Conquer
by WhisperElmwood
Summary: After the events over the summer, Harry and Draco must return to Hogwarts for thier seventh and final year, but just what the hell is going on? Sequel to Divide HarryDraco RonHermione Chapter 05 uploaded
1. Prologue

Well, here we go ^^ All recognizable characters are © J.K. Rowling, I wish her no harm and am making no money from writing this.  
  
Onwards with the sequel to Divide!  
  
* * * *  
  
Prologue  
  
Fully prepared for what would likely happen at the other end, Harry Potter stepped into the fire, stating firmly, "The Burrow!" as he did so. He clung determinedly to his small suitcase, tucking his elbows in for good measure, hoping he wouldn't break his glasses, which he'd shoved in his pocket.  
  
There was the usual flurry of movement, near misses with various grates and soot before he tumbled forwards onto his knees, the wind knocked out of him. He looked up, still clutching the suitcase and saw two vaguely human shapes in front of him. One was topped with bright red, the other, a lot of mousy brown.  
  
Sighing inwardly, he recognized his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.  
  
Letting go of the suitcase, he pulled out his glasses and slipped them on over his nose, so he could see the couple clearly. Completely ignoring the looks on both their faces, as well as the newspaper cutting in Ron's hands, he climbed to his feet, dusting himself off. When he was done, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at them both pointedly.  
  
"So, how's your holiday been?"  
  
Ron nearly exploded.  
  
"What the hell do you mean, 'how's you holiday been'?!" The tall red-head jumped up, brandishing the clipping in Harry's face. "What is going on?! First there's this bloody outrageous article about you and Malfoy, then there's reports of Death Eaters, where YOU happen to be staying and then we hear from the Aurors that you have to stay hear for the rest of the holiday!"  
  
Ron waved the clipping at him again and Harry clearly saw Draco's photograph narrowing its eyes. "Dumbledore himself wrote to mum and dad about it all! And you just stand there asking stupid bloody questions!"  
  
Harry stood silently for a moment, wondering whether Ron had anything else to say. Eventually, Ron sputtering indignantly as he did so, he asked Hermione, "Has he been like this all week?"  
  
Hermione nodded, a gleam in her eyes as Ron yelled, "Harry!" throwing his hands in the air annoyed. In his turn, Harry folded his arms and looked at the red-head with a stern expression. After a pause, Ron seemed to calm down and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looking at the floor.  
  
Harry took a breath. "The article about me and Draco," Ron and Hermione's eyes both widened at the Slytherin's given name, "is pretty much right. We met a day or so into my holiday. No, Ron, he has not hexed me, given me any kind of potion or addled my brain. Nor is he using me as a means to join the Death Eaters in all the glory it would undoubtedly give him. Voldemort," still, after all this time, Ron flinched slightly, "tortured that ambition out of him last summer for reasons I will not get into now."  
  
He paused a moment, looking Ron straight in the eyes, "Draco has Dumbledore's trust, as well as mine."  
  
Ron looked ready to explode again, but Harry interrupted him. "We were sitting outside the Abbey when the first attack happened. I - was recovering from some injuries I don't want to talk about." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up more than usual, wishing he was back in Draco's hotel room. "I had dinner with a Death Eater the same night they decided to attack me. They killed two muggles to get at me, I killed one of them in return."  
  
Ron's blue eyes widened and Hermione let out what sounded like an involuntary gasp. "They Crucio'd me in to unconsciousness before the Auror's arrived and then Draco looked after me. We were in his hotel room when Arcadia was attacked," he fought back a smile at the thought of what they had been doing at the time; "Draco talked to Rita Skeeter and broke her Quick-Quotes-Quill when she pissed him off."  
  
A surprised snort from Ron made him look up. "We followed two Death Eaters and witnessed them murder a man who worked with Uncle Vernon." He saw the expression on Ron's face but closed his eyes, seeing that flash of green light again. He sighed heavily and continued, "I forgot my Occlumency and had another vision, Draco threatened the Dursleys for me and now I'm here."  
  
He looked back at his two closest friends again, the emotion in his eyes completely unhidden, "I had to leave Draco behind, even though Voldemort knows he's renounced him, even though I KNOW Voldemort's pissed off and - "  
  
He realised he'd clenched his fists and was surprised by the fear running through him. It was strange, he never felt fear for himself these days, but he felt it plenty for those around him, those he put in danger just by knowing them. Now he felt it for the blonde Slytherin in unchecked amounts and he knew he was helpless to do anything about it.  
  
There was a long moment of silence. He unclenched his fists, looking straight at Ron the entire time, then grabbed his suitcase and strode from the room.  
  
* * * *  
  
He was cornered in the hallway by Molly Weasley. She was all motherly concern and big smiles, wrapping her arms round him and ruffling his hair. Eventually, she told him he was staying in Ron's room, in the spare bed.  
  
He thanked her, heartily, and then made his way up to Fred and Georges old room. When he opened the door, he was surprised by the amount of Chuddly Cannons posters on the walls. If anything, Ron's new room was even more vibrant than his old one. He must have had a lot more memorabilia stored away than Harry had even attempted to guess at.  
  
He smiled to himself and made his way to the spare bed at the far side of the room. At least the bed covers on this one were a mercifully darker tone than the orange everywhere else. He dumped his suitcase on the covers and began sorting through his things.  
  
When he was about halfway through, Ron stuck his head round the door. He glanced up, and then went back to unpacking his things. So far, all his new clothes, the ones Draco had bought him for his birthday, were neatly folded on the bed ready to go in the small set of drawers. His Hogwarts trunk was sitting at the end of the bed, with all his worldly possessions, (not that there were many), nestled inside. Hedwig was dozing in her cage on the dresser.  
  
He felt Ron standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. After a moment the tall boy asked, "Where'd you get all the new clothes?"  
  
Harry glanced up and realised Ron had gained another half inch since the beginning of the summer. Would he ever stop growing? Ron was now a full two inches taller than him, and Harry wasn't exactly short himself. He smiled slightly and then turned back to his task.  
  
"Draco's birthday gift," he said simply.  
  
There was a stony silence as he began placing the clothes in the drawers. Harry knew very well that Ron was silently seething. It had always been a sore point to the youngest Weasley boy how little his family had in the way of finances, and now Harry, his best friend, was being given expensive gifts by one of the richest wizards around. Of course, it didn't help that this wizard also happened to be the same one who had been taunting the Weasley's about their lack of money for the past six years. Even if he had made a point of not doing it last year, Harry mused.  
  
"That's nice," Ron's voice was curt, a little strained. "Our gifts for you are downstairs."  
  
Harry nodded, remembering Hermione's letter, shouldering away from the memories of the night he had received it. If he never saw Uncle Vernon again, he would be very much surprised. "Thank you," he said quietly, sitting back on his heels, looking at the suitcase without seeing it.  
  
"Please don't hate me, Ron. I couldn't stand it if you did." He closed his eyes for a moment, not moving, listening to his best friend. If he lost him now, after all they had been through together, over something as silly as befriending Draco Malfoy, it would be too much.  
  
"I don't hate you, Harry, I just don't understand. I mean, Malfoy! Ever since we met him we've hated him! Same goes for the slimy bastard, since day one he's been bloody horrible to us, to you." There was a second's pause, "Do I have to remind you of what he did to us all in, well, every year?"  
  
"No." Harry climbed to his feet and looked at the tall red-head, "No, you don't. I can't explain it, Ron, not properly. He's just changed since last summer." He ran a hand through his unruly hair, trying to find the words.  
  
"We've all changed since that summer," he looked into Ron's questioning blue eyes, "Something happened to Draco a couple of weeks before term started. Do you remember the vision I had then?"  
  
Realization began to dawn in the clear blue eyes, "That was him? But, You- Know-Who, well, he tried to-" Ron stuttered to a halt, a look of horror on his face.  
  
Harry nodded, "Yeah, and tortured him when he tried to fight him off. It opened his eyes, made him realise a few things. Surely you must have noticed he left everyone alone last year?"  
  
Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, "Yeah, actually. He was a little quiet last year."  
  
Harry took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, relieved that Ron was beginning to understand, that he wouldn't lose his best friend. He slipped the glasses back on again and looked up at the other boy. Ron was looking at him thoughtfully, his arms folded.  
  
"This doesn't mean I'm going to start liking him, you know. I still think he's a little git with a superiority complex. But," he said the word firmly, obviously making sure Harry was listening, "for your sake, I may try to tolerate him."  
  
Harry grinned, completely amazed by his friends words.  
  
Ron gave a small smile in return and seemed to gather his thoughts, dropping his hands to his sides, "So, need any help with unpacking?"  
  
* * * *  
  
The talk with Hermione turned out to be much easier; she had already put two and two together after Harry had turned up and given his brief recount of the past two weeks. She also happened to have a better memory than Ron, and clearly remembered Draco's strangely quiet behavior last year.  
  
All this meant that Harry didn't have to explain too much and the three of them got down to relaxing and doing their summer homework - something Harry had neglected over the past few weeks.  
  
On the Wednesday, Fred and George visited, and indeed, were as annoyingly secretive as Hermione had said in her letter. They would let little words slip here and there while talking, but nothing anyone other than they would understand, and no amount of wheedling from anyone at the Burrow could persuade them to come clean.  
  
Harry eventually gave up, satisfied with the idea that he would find out at some point, as, after all, these were the Weasley Twins.  
  
When they left, he and Ron talked late into the night, trying to figure out what they were up to, talking over the latest Quidditch results and wondering who would be taking their DADA lessons this year. A pompous young man named Oscar Defoe had taken the class last year, but had quit due to stress in late June - Harry and Ron often toyed with the idea that he had done it simply to continue the rumor of the job being cursed.  
  
Thursday and Friday were taken up with a visit from Charlie and his new girlfriend, Antonia Melville, a short but bubbly girl with just as many calluses and dragon burns to her name as Charlie.  
  
On Saturday Harry and Ron practiced their Quidditch moves. Over the last year Ron had greatly improved, his confidence soaring when Harry had been reinstated to the position of Seeker. Hermione threw golf balls for Harry and he took turns with her to throw a football at Ron.  
  
They had to keep low, but the copse behind the Burrow had grown a little since the last time they had done this, so the day was rather productive and Harry went to sleep with a smile on his face, even though Hermione had threatened to keep both boys' inside all the next day to study.  
  
* * * *  
  
He was angry.  
  
The feeling washed through his body, traveling through his veins. He savored the feeling, allowed it to circulate his system before biting down on it and bringing his attention back to the present.  
  
He was standing in a conservatory, his thin arms crossed over his even thinner chest, glaring at the ridiculous fountain in the center of the glass room. He was surrounded by plants of all kinds, ranging from the harmless and beautiful to the dangerously ugly. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting serenely on the edge of the ornate monstrosity.  
  
He hated to be kept waiting. That damn boy was supposed to have returned by now, what the hell was he doing? Sneering to himself he scanned the room again.  
  
He turned his head slightly when he heard tires crunching on gravel. Ah, good.  
  
Turning blood red eyes on his men, he nodded, taking note of the malicious and anticipatory smiles on two of the Death Eaters faces. He was going to enjoy this evening's activities, though perhaps not quite so much as they would.  
  
After a few more moments there was the sound of the front door opening. "Mother? Are you home?" The voice echoed round the entrance hall, and Narcissa didn't move, she simply blinked and turned her pale eyes on her master. She trailed her fingers through the water, a slow smile caressing her lips, taking a small silvery-gold talisman from her pocket.  
  
He turned and faced the doorway, listening to the boy's movements. It sounded like he was kicking his luggage through the doorway.  
  
He unfolded his arms and made his way to the door. He opened the door and looked at the back of Draco Malfoy's perfectly combed head. He grinned to himself, "Ahhh, Draco...."  
  
His red eyes dropped to the cloak lying at Draco's feet as the boy flinched. He must know why I'm here, he thought with a distinct smirk. He stood still, in the exact center of the doorway, glancing once around the hall before fixing his gaze on the hapless deserter before him.  
  
Draco turned and he relished the fear in his eyes, the pale gray gone dark with undisguised emotion. With a nasty smile, he withdrew his wand from the recesses of his enveloping robes and took a step forward, locking his red cat-like eyes on the dread filled gray-blue. The blonde's legs nearly gave way as he did so.  
  
"Draco, we have been waiting for you. I do so hate to be kept waiting." He whispered, just loud enough for Draco to hear his words in the stillness of the hall.  
  
He had been kept waiting for far too long. Standing in that revolting conservatory for nearly half an hour had put him in a foul mood and this young Potter-worshiper was going to feel the full extent of his wrath.  
  
He felt the anger pool through his system again, one of the only feelings he allowed himself these days and a faint smile touched upon his thin lips as he raised the wand, eyes flickering.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Chapter one will be up as soon as possible ^^ it's already half written. I should warn everybody now that this fic will be a LOT longer than the prequel, the first chapter alone is already 15 pages long and only half way through. o0 So! Be prepared for the long haul on this one guys ^^  
  
Hannah 


	2. Chapter 01

All recognizable characters are © J.K. Rowling and Warner (I think)  
  
* * * *  
  
"DRACO!"  
  
Harry slammed upright, nearly falling from his bed in Ron's new room. The duvet was tangled round his body and he fought for a moment to release himself as Ron yawned and sat up to look at him.  
  
"Whassup H'rry?" The bleary eyed red-head mumbled, running a hand through his hair, blinking slowly.  
  
Harry finally released himself and threw the duvet back on the bed and shoved his glasses on roughly, scraping the bridge of his nose as he did so. "It's Draco! Voldemort's torturing him again!" He cursed, trying vainly to find his trousers and giving up, "I knew this would happen!"  
  
Ron looked a little more alert, "Should we wake mum and dad?" The other boy began getting out of bed, "We should tell Dumbledore. I'll get Pig."  
  
Harry looked at him incredulously for a second, "Fuck that! I'm going now; YOU send an owl to Dumbledore!"  
  
He grabbed his wand, barely taking the time to register Ron's look of surprise and disapparated.  
  
He remembered what the entrance hall of Malfoy mansion looked like, knew the layout from Voldemort's own memories of the place, the knowledge was inside him. He didn't think, just used what he knew and apparated to the top of the left-hand staircase, behind a large potted plant.  
  
Almost instantly the pain hit him. His scar burned, searing pain washed over him, behind his eyes, reverberating through his skull, trailing fire through his veins. He fell to one knee, clutching at his head, clenching his teeth together so tightly his jaw ached. Slowly he managed to get the pain under control. He had almost forgotten how bad it could be this close to Voldemort, especially when the Dark Lord was in a particularly venomous mood.  
  
He blinked a few times, brushing away the wetness gathering in his eyes from the pain and climbed laboriously back to his feet, using the wall and the plant-pot to steady himself. Swearing silently, he peered through the large bush-like plant, down the stairways, across the hall, at Draco Malfoy on his knees and Voldemort standing over him.  
  
His eyes narrowed in anger. Draco was clutching at his stomach, tears of fear, pain and humiliation streaming down his face, Voldemort simply standing, watching, laughing in his high pitched voice, snake like features twisted in violent mirth.  
  
Harry moved. He had learned not to rush into things since Sirius' death, had learned to pay attention, assess the situation, and he did this now almost without thinking. He knew the Dark Lord would not be alone, he remembered the Death Eaters from the vision; it was simply a case of finding them before they found him.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
His heart leapt into his throat as Draco screamed, falling to the floor and curling in on himself. There! He saw two Death Eaters, fully robed, wearing their masks now, standing behind Voldemort in the doorway to the conservatory. They looked like they were enjoying the torture show, as if Draco wasn't a Malfoy, a 'pure blood' and the son of the woman sitting in the conservatory behind them. As if Draco were nothing more than a worm wriggling on the end of a hook.  
  
Voldemort stepped back and motioned the two men forward with a small smirk on his thin, snake-like mouth. "I give him to you," his voice was quiet, but carried across the hall to Harry, whose eyes widened in shock and realization, anticipatory fear washing over his senses.  
  
One of the Death Eaters grabbed Draco by the arms and pulled him to his feet, slamming him against the wall face first. Voldemort stepped back and turned, moving into the conservatory, where Harry knew Narcissa Malfoy was waiting. "Have fun...." The red eyes flicked over the two Death Eaters before the conservatory doors were closed. Harry simply couldn't believe this was happening.  
  
Draco gasped in pain and Harry's attention was once again on the three figures below him. The two men were laughing deeply, harshly and the one pinning Draco to the wall was pulling his arm up his back, his masked face mere inches from Draco's ear.  
  
With an audible snap that set Harry's teeth on edge, Draco's arm broke. The blonde cried out, the scream of pain echoing around the hallway, sending Harry instantly to his feet. Almost in the same instant, Voldemort's presence vanished from the building and Harry's mind went mercifully clear. He straightened, as if some weight was dropping from him, pointing his wand directly at the man pinning Draco.  
  
"Crucio!" With all the anger bubbling inside of him, Harry truly wanted to hurt the man and that was all it needed for the spell to work properly for the first time in his life. The man holding Draco fell to the floor with a scream of pain, his eyes rolling back and showing the whites through the masks eyeholes. A second later the Slytherin collapsed, clutching his arm and looking up in surprise, gray eyes wide.  
  
The remaining Death Eater let out a cry of surprised outrage and the conservatory doors opened again. There were more of them than he had previously thought. It looked like Malfoy Mansion was currently holding the entire inner circle. Nobody moved, too shocked to see Harry Potter standing at the top of the staircase in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers, a look of pure fury on his face that none of them had seen before.  
  
Moving nothing other than his eyes and arm, Harry turned his wand on the second Death Eater a second before the man thought to pull out his own and whispered "Crucio." Again, sending the man twitching and wreathing to the ground in unparalleled pain.  
  
After that, things got a little crowded. Everyone started moving at once. In the rush of bodies and spells, Harry caught a glimpse of Narcissa sneering and disapparating, her blonde hair and pale blue robes shining in the light of the killing curse sent his way. She didn't even glance at her only son, lying prone on the ground, clutching his broken and bloody arm.  
  
He ducked the curse and set the nearest Death Eater aflame, calmly watching the man screaming and blunder into three or four of his fellows, spreading the flames before another Death Eater put them out. The anger growing inside of him, throwing Death Eaters aside as if they were mere toys with the Prosterno curse he had used to kill only a matter of days before, he calmly made his way forward. He looked around as the sound of people Apparating in drifted up from the entrance hall's floor.  
  
Aurors! There was a sudden renewed vigor to the spells and curses thrown by the Death Eaters. They were trying to kill, while the Aurors wanted live prisoners. The clear, gravely voice of Mad-Eye Moody could be heard resounding through the noisy clashes and screams of pain and rage and he was sure he saw the dark face of Shaklebolt in the press of bodies below him.  
  
Harry ducked a spell, attempting to make his way down the stairs and was then pressed against the wall by another. He struggled for a moment and spied the Death Eater that had caught him; he recognized the intent look on the half revealed face behind her smashed mask. This spell needed concentration. "Petrificus Totalus!" He almost screamed the spell, sending the Death Eater crashing to the bottom of the stairway, her mask slipping completely. He didn't recognize her. With a small jolt of shock, he realised he wouldn't have cared if he had.  
  
Nearly a third of the Death Eaters had disapparated when the Aurors arrived, the two he had hit with the pain curse were still lying unconscious near the blood drenched Slytherin. He threw off the spell pinning him to the wall as it weakened and raced down the staircase to Draco's side.  
  
* * * *  
  
Oh god, he was going to die, and he knew it. Why hadn't he heeded Harry? Why had he allowed his own stupid pride to take over and force him to return to the mansion? What the hell had he been thinking? He stopped questioning himself, knowing it was futile, hindsight was all very well, but it would certainly do him no good against Voldemort.  
  
A fresh wave of pain enveloped him and he fell to the floor, not even noticing his own screams of agony, the tears running down his face in pain and humiliation at being treated in such a way in his own home. He saw Voldemort take a step backwards; his voluminous robes disappearing from his field of vision as he curled in on himself, heard through the throbbing in his head the words Voldemort spoke.  
  
Rough hands grabbed him; pulling him to his feet and slamming him face first against the wall. The breath was knocked out of him as his chest connected with the ancient stone wall and he choked as the Crucio began to fade and his senses began to return. A body pressed against his back, pushing him into the wall with a little more force than was necessary. He blinked, biting back another cry of fear as the Death Eaters' masked face pressed close to his own, felt a hand grab his hip with enough force to bruise.  
  
There was harsh laughter from behind as the Death Eater whispered, "Always wanted a taste of the pretty little Malfoy boy." The voice was harsh, grating and full of a heat he understood only too well. "Pity Lucius isn't here to see this." It was a voice he recognized, had known for more than five years. The man's face seared his memory. Dark brown eyes watching him, watching him always, whenever he and his father met. He struggled, trying to break the hold on his arms, but the Cruciatus curse had left him weak, he could barely move, though he tried, using will alone. "Get off me!"  
  
His voice cracked and came out as barely more than a whisper, but the man heard him and in response began to pull his right arm up his back, joining in the laughter from the watching Death Eater. Draco gasped in pain as his arm was pulled further up his back. Again he struggled, but in vain, a moment later the pain in his arm intensified, coalescing on a single point. With an audible snap and faint crunching sound, his arm broke and the bone tore through muscle and skin, ripping the sleeve of his top.  
  
He thought he would faint from the pain. There was a roaring in his ears and the world seemed to spin as his stomach contracted, bile and precious oxygen catching in his throat and he couldn't bite off the scream that tore through him. Heard it echoing around the hall.  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
Harry? The body pressed against him disappeared with a cry of pain. He turned slightly, seeing the Death Eater curled up on the floor, out cold, the whites of his eyes showing clearly through the mask and then looked up to where he had heard Harry's voice.  
  
He was there, standing at the top of the left hand staircase, wand raised, green eyes blazing with a fury he had never before witnessed outside of his father, dressed in what appeared to be his underwear. "Harry..." He slipped down the wall to the floor, clutching at his bloody arm, feeling the warm liquid pulsing over him, black spots flashing before his eyes. The other Death Eater cried out in surprise and suddenly the hall was full of them, none registering his presence in their furious attempts to capture The Boy Who Lived.  
  
Slowly, the fighting going on around him, he slipped to the floor, his vision blurring slightly. He glanced up and saw his mother. At first he thought the vision in pale blue would help him, his fuzzy thoughts scattering and then lighting up with the memory of her tender caresses when he was much younger, when he was scared after a bad dream or a fall.  
  
He lifted himself from the floor slightly, turning toward her, but she moved away, away from the dozen or so masked Death Eaters, away from him, her only child and he slumped back again. There was a glint of silvery yellow in her hand, a colour that seemed familiar, but it was gone as she turned, her robes flying about her.  
  
She didn't even look at him and the memories faded as she disapparated, his thoughts scattering once more. He closed his eyes, tears and blood smearing on his face as his head touched the ground. He barely noticed the sounds of people apparating and disapparating around him, but then gentle hands touched him, clasped his shoulders and moved him onto his back.  
  
He opened his eyes and focused on the face above him. "Potter," he croaked and the raven-haired Gryffindor smiled. "God, Draco, I thought you were dead. You're covered in blood!" Draco blinked up at him, then attempting the most serious face he could under the circumstances, murmured, "Red's my new favorite colour." He coughed slightly, "You appear to have forgotten your trousers, by the way."  
  
Harry burst into surprised laughter and wrapped his arms round him, Draco winced in pain but relaxed into the embrace, seeking and finding the comfort he needed. He raised his eyebrow at one of the Aurors when they stared, pausing after body-binding a Death Eater.  
  
He closed his eyes again and rested his head on Harry's shoulder, the relief in the raven-haired boy's voice had stirred something within him and he fought the blackness that was threatening to overwhelm him. He didn't want to sleep, he wanted to feel the pain and Harry's strong shoulder under his cheek, feel the strong arms wrapped tenderly about him and know he was alive, that he was safe.  
  
That Harry had come for him.  
  
* * * *  
  
After the Aurors had arrived, most of the Death Eaters vanished, disapparated, leaving behind those few who couldn't escape. In all, the Aurors now had four Death Eaters in their hands, two of which were still unconscious after Harry's powerful first and second Cruciatus curses. The third had been captured by the Aurors; the last was the woman Harry had bound. Two others had been killed in the ensuing battle as Harry had tended to Draco.  
  
When it was over, Medi-Wizards had apparated in and healed the blonde Slytherin as well as the injured Aurors', telling him he had to stay in bed for a few days to recover his strength, they had also made him drink a blood replenishing potion that apparently tasted disgusting. Moody had informed them both that Dumbledore wanted Draco to stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer and had handed them a Portkey.  
  
It had taken them both straight to the living room where Mr and Mrs Weasley, as well as Ron, Hermione and Ginny, had been waiting anxiously for them. Almost instantly both boys had been wrapped in blankets, though Molly went pale and Hermione's and Ginny's eyes widened, at the sight of Draco's blood coating them both.  
  
Draco had been taken straight to Ron's old room and given a change of clothes and helped into bed by Arthur. Harry was bundled up into his bed in Ron's new room. Both boys were fast asleep within minutes, leaving the Weasleys and Hermione to talk over the events in hushed tones.  
  
* * * *  
  
Harry awoke with the sun in his face.  
  
He groaned and rolled over, digging himself deeper into the blankets, screwing his eyes tightly shut, relishing the feel of the soft duvet encompassing him entirely, making his limbs feel heavy and contented. For a few moments he lay there in complete ignorance, not remembering what had taken place the night before. He was so comfortable he nearly fell asleep again.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
That was Ron. Nothing new there, he was sharing the room with him after all. He mumbled something incoherent and burrowed deeper. "Harry? Are you alright?"  
  
He opened his eyes, the wall a few inches from his nose slowly coming into focus as he remembered. "Shit!" He sat up, scattering the various blankets that had been draped over him, "Where's Draco? Is he alright?"  
  
Ron was sitting on his own bed across the room, looking at him with penetrating blue eyes. For a moment they just looked at each other and then Ron spoke. "He's sitting in my old bed, acting very strangely."  
  
Harry grabbed his glasses and slipped them on, "Strangely?" He wrinkled his nose as the supports rubbed over the scrape from the last time he had shoved his glasses on too quickly. Now he could see Ron roll his eyes, "He's not swearing at anyone. In fact, he isn't even speaking at all. He's just sitting there drinking the soup mum gave him."  
  
Harry grinned and stood up, rubbing absently at the raw patch on the bridge of his nose, "Sounds like him." He rooted around in the small dresser trying to find his trousers and a clean t-shirt. He pulled on one of the new ones and a pair of jeans, aware of Ron's eyes on him the entire time.  
  
"What's for breakfast?" he asked when he was done. Ron just looked at him blankly. "You missed breakfast, mate. It's three in the afternoon; you slept most of the day."  
  
Harry paused, "Really?" Ron nodded, getting to his feet. Harry pursed his lips in surprise and then stuffed his feet into a tatty pair of slippers loaned to him by Arthur Weasley. The two boys trailed down to the kitchen, and as far as Harry could tell, Ron deliberately avoided his old room and the injured boy inside.  
  
He ate a quick lunch, listening to Molly telling him how worried she had been last night when Ron had woken the house up, yelling something about visions and Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. He smiled reassuringly and ate what she gave him (a large plateful of bacon and sausages with fried toast on the side) listening attentively when she told him about Dumbledore's letter and Moody apparating in, holding Pig in one callused hand and Ron's hastily scrawled letter in the other.  
  
Ginny smiled at him, relief evident in her eyes, when she came in from the garden, but she carried on through and up the stairs to her room, pilfering a slice of toast as she went past. Hermione came in a few moments later carrying Crookshanks, whose tail was twitching slightly. "He's been chasing the Gnomes again," she offered in explanation, sitting down next to him and giving him a critical look as the ginger cat padded across the table to sniff daintily at the plate of bacon, reminding him greatly of Draco and the cookies.  
  
He cleared his plate as quickly as possible, but was given second helpings before he could get up. He ate his way through the meal, noticing he actually was quite hungry, smiling to himself as Hermione chided Crookshanks for attempting to eat the Gnomes. She sounded almost as she had in their fourth year when complaining about people's treatment of House Elves. She didn't mention last night's events, for which he was grateful, and he soon finished the second meal. He fended off Mrs Weasleys attempts at feeding him again and excused himself.  
  
Ron and Hermione both gave him forced casual glances as he left the kitchen, but he just smiled again and made his way up to Ron's old room and Draco, anxious to see how the blonde Slytherin was.  
  
He paused at the door but couldn't hear anything so he knocked. A moment later Draco's voice drawled, "Come in, Harry." He opened the door and stuck his head through, smiling slightly. Draco was indeed sitting in the bed. He was propped up with a couple of pillows and reading what appeared to be a muggle book. He looked a little paler than usual; there were dark circles under his eyes.  
  
He didn't look up, but slowly turned a page as Harry stepped in, pushing the door to. "How'd you know it was me?"  
  
The gray eyes finally looked up at him, they were dulled to an almost stormy gray, not as bright or clear as usual and he frowned slightly, it almost seemed the fight had gone from Draco after last nights events. "You're the only person in this entire house, other than Hermione, and I don't think she'd be visiting me, anyway, who knocks. Why is that?"  
  
Harry shrugged and poked Draco's feet through the duvet, the blonde tucked them up under himself and he sat down, "Always thought it was politer." He didn't mention the fact that the Dursley's had drilled it into him as a child, Draco had probably figured it out for himself.  
  
"How are you?" He asked quietly instead. Draco closed the book and ran a hand over his face, through his hair, then looked at him, "I'm better. Better than I was, anyway." Harry leaned back against the wall, letting the shorter boy talk. "I just can't figure out why the hell I went home. I know I wanted to, but your warning, my better judgment-" The blonde shook his head and sighed. "Anyway."  
  
After a long pause Harry cleared his throat slightly and changed the subject, "Where did you get the book?"  
  
Draco picked it up again and looked at it, "The Aurors visited this morning with a few of my things. It was in my Hogwarts trunk," he waved vaguely at the large, rather ornate trunk sitting in the corner of the room, "I've always had muggle books, my parents never knew about them."  
  
"'Pride and Prejudice'?" Harry raised an eyebrow at the choice in literature. Draco smiled offhandedly, "It's a good book. I prefer 'Emma' though." Harry shook his head with a smile, "There's a lot more to you than I ever imagined."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment," Draco replied with a stronger smile, his eyes losing the dullness a little.  
  
* * * *  
  
A couple of days later, Draco was beginning to get fed up with being stuck in bed. He was still tired, and his arm was a little stiff, but he wanted to get out into the fresh air and see where the hell he was, to find out a sketchbook and pencils for Merlin's sake. It was almost intolerable, this itch in his hand to get the images out of his head. He hadn't gone so long without drawing in his life.  
  
He glared over at Harry, who had taken it upon himself to look after him until he was better and said, "I'm not a bloody invalid, you know."  
  
He was grumpy and had also had to suffer Molly Weasleys 'coddling', as he put it, so to all appearances, or at least when Ron or Hermione were around, he was far from enjoying Harry's attentions. He was currently sitting up in bed in the tiny room he had been informed used to be Ron's, wearing Fred's, or possibly George's old pyjamas, propped up on a few hundred pillows and wrapped in the duvet.  
  
The pillows were actually Harry's doing and he found himself very comfortable, despite his occasional indignant outbursts. He heard a faint hissing in reply to his latest statement and gave Harry a penetrating stare. "Was that Parseltongue?" He had only ever heard it once before, during their duel in second year.  
  
Harry gave him a sheepish kind of grin, "Yeah, sorry, just slipped out."  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor as he pottered around the small room, tidying in an absentminded fashion that he could only attribute to the years of servitude at number four, Privet Drive. He sipped at the coffee the taller boy had given him, his eyes never leaving the lithe form.  
  
"So - what did you say?"  
  
Harry paused in the rearranging of the few possessions they had been able to procure from Malfoy Mansion since Sunday morning, he turned back and repeated the strange uttered language that marked him as a rare Parselmouth. Then he grinned. Draco frowned into his mug, eyebrows almost meeting, glancing up again as Harry laughed lightly, briefly meeting those emerald eyes now shinning with mirth.  
  
"A literal translation would probably be, 'Yes, Lord Dragon, whatever you say.'"  
  
Draco wrinkled his nose as the other boy turned back to tidying, still laughing quietly to himself. That certainly hadn't been what it had sounded like, but then, Parseltongue apparently always sounded slightly sinister, whatever the speaker was actually saying. And why the hell was it so funny, anyway?  
  
"What's so funny about it?"  
  
Harry glanced back at him again, the mirth still gleaming in his eyes, "Just a silly little Parselmouth thing. It's your name really, dragons are to snakes what Merlin, or even Dumbledore is to us. It just made me laugh a little."  
  
Harry turned back to his self imposed task and Draco raised an eyebrow at his back. Eventually he said, quietly, "You were scary, you know, the other night. I was delirious with pain, but I could still see it." He watched as Harry's back tightened under the clinging material of his fitted t-shirt, but the taller boy didn't stop what he was doing, nor did he reply. Draco realised he'd touched a nerve and let it pass without comment. There was undisturbed silence for a while.  
  
"You know, we're going to have to tell them to get more of your things. You can't live off this for an entire year." Harry actually sounded a little exasperated as he waved a hand vaguely at the very little Draco currently called his own.  
  
"No less than what you've obviously had to live on for the past six years." Draco paused, "Sorry, the past sixteen. Have to count all those years with those revolting relatives of yours." He rolled his eyes when Harry's face fell slightly, "Oh, really, Harry. I'm perfectly happy with what I've got. At least I've still got the money my parents put in Gringotts. Not even Mother could get at that now."  
  
Harry dropped onto the bed and sat looking at him in silence. Eventually he said, "You are taking all of this way too well, Draco."  
  
He shrugged. "I'm just looking at it objectively."  
  
Harry leaned forward, taking the empty mug from his hands, their fingers brushed lightly against each other for a moment. "I don't mean that, and you know it." He put the mug on the bedside table and Draco found himself the target of a probing gaze, the emerald eyes dark and questioning. He leaned back slightly; narrowing his eyes again, "No, I don't know what you mean." He really didn't want to be having this conversation. Not now, not ever, and certainly not with Harry. There were certain things he never talked about, and what the Death Eaters, two of his father's closer compatriots, had tried to do to him this weekend was just another thing to add to the list.  
  
Harry sighed and sat back against the wall, breaking the eye contact, looking a little hurt. Draco refused to feel guilty, if he didn't want to talk about it, he didn't have to. It was his choice, and he had worked things out plenty of times before now on his own. In fact, he'd done pretty much everything on his own for the past year or so. He wasn't about to break the record now. He pulled his knees up to his chin and watched Harry; the Gryffindor was frowning slightly now. After a moment Harry turned and looked at him.  
  
"Tell me what happened last summer." He asked quietly, "I know it wasn't just Voldemort's.... attack. What happened before he took you into the Mansion? What made you change so much?"  
  
Draco blinked and put one arm behind his head. He had known this was coming, ever since that night almost two weeks ago. He'd thought he'd be able to defer the conversation until they were at Hogwarts, but fate had conspired against him, it appeared. He sighed and collected his thoughts, thinking about what he would say before he answered.  
  
He sighed, not looking at Harry directly as he admitted, "I'm not going to deny that I enjoyed being a little shit. Before last summer, before Voldemort, I loved the superior feeling I garnered from bullying younger and smaller kids." He paused, unable to fathom quite what he was trying to say, so he changed tactics and turned back to the Gryffindor again.  
  
"But Voldemort...." He swallowed and looked straight into Harry's eyes, gathering his thoughts again. "It was a mixture of things, really. My father being removed from my life was the biggest factor, I suppose. You know he influenced almost everything I did and said, right?"  
  
Harry nodded. "Well, once he was gone I had my first taste of real freedom and it scared the shit out of me. I didn't really know what to do with myself and I still acted as if he was there, looking over my shoulder, watching everything I did. I spent a lot of the first few weeks of summer just thinking, trying to figure out what was going on inside me. I slowly came to realise that I'd been under my father's thumb all those years, that I'd been nothing more than his bloody puppet."  
  
He glared at the ceiling, "Then mother left on one of her bloody sabbaticals and Snape turned up."  
  
He moved his arm, lowering both hands onto his lap as he spread his legs out a little. Harry shifted slightly to allow him more room. "We talked, and he made me think, for myself, about what I really wanted to do, not what my parents wanted of me. He presented me with an option I had never considered before. Defying my father, my mother. Renouncing Voldemort."  
  
He looked at his hands, now lying open, palm up, on his thighs. "That was the night Voldemort decided he wanted the last Malfoy in his ranks."  
  
He felt Harry's hand gently rest on one of his ankles and didn't move it. "He turned up with about fifty Death Eaters, some of them inner circle, most just followers. He stood there and promised me things. He'd break my father out of Azkaban, give me power on his level, make me one of his elite. He'd even allow me to 'play' with you, if I really wanted to, when Dumbledore was finally overthrown."  
  
He clenched his fists. "I spent the better part of an hour convincing him that was what I wanted, that I was a true servant, that I was just like my father. I also convinced him I should stay as a simple follower until my eighteenth, that the Dark Mark would surely be noticed in Hogwarts and that I couldn't risk it."  
  
He looked up as Harry's hand tightened slightly on his ankle. "Eventually, he agreed. He decided his gift to me, when I officially became an adult, would be his blessing and the Dark Mark. So, in essence, I joined him, Harry." He shook his head, "I was scared out of my mind, but Snape was there. He was the only reason I was able to do it, if he hadn't been there, keeping watch, I probably would have fucked it all up."  
  
He sighed, "Not that I didn't anyway," he paused, looking at his hands again, "and then he took me into the Mansion and you know the rest from there. His doing that to me just made me hate him and everything I had lived for until that point, even more. So I renounced everything and tried to atone for what I had done."  
  
He didn't mention the other revelations from that night, the feelings he had denied for so long, the need within him for something he had never received from his father, he didn't think he needed too. He looked up as Harry moved and came to sit on the bed at his side, facing him.  
  
"Thanks for telling me, Draco." And Harry leaned forward. Draco half closed his eyes as the other boy pressed his lips to his forehead, his cheeks gently cupped by Harry's long, slightly callused fingers.  
  
* * * *  
  
Hermione put a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp.  
  
She had come searching for Harry, to inform him the twins would be returning on Wednesday. She knew he would be with Malfoy, as his years at the Dursleys had left him with a mother-hen attitude that had left him acting as nursemaid to the Slytherin since that night, but she certainly hadn't been expecting this.  
  
The bushy haired Gryffindor had reached the slightly open doorway in time to hear Malfoy start his explanation, and she had thought it prudent to let him talk. When he had finished though, she had watched in silent shock as Harry moved closer and leaned in.  
  
Seeing him kiss Malfoy had been enough of a shock to make her stifle a gasp. Of course, she had begun thinking Harry felt a little more than friendship towards the Slytherin. She was certainly intelligent enough to notice the signs in her best friend, but to actually have it confirmed, right in front of her, and to know it was a feeling reciprocated by the proud blonde, was a little too much to bear.  
  
She watched in abject fascination for a moment as Malfoy turned his head and the two boys kissed, slowly and warmly, then she turned and slipped as quietly as she could to the bottom of the stairs. Turning again, she steadied herself, took a deep breath and went back up them, this time making enough noise for them to hear her coming. "Harry?" She called his name for good measure.  
  
* * * *  
  
"They kissed?"  
  
Ron's voice nearly shook with surprise and he was suddenly very happy they had chosen to have this conversation at the other end of the field behind his house. He was sure his outburst would have been heard otherwise.  
  
Hermione nodded and he leaned back on the ground, staring up at the sky. "It's worse than I thought." Ron moved his arm slightly as Hermione put her head on his shoulder, quietly saying, "It's not really. Were you even paying attention?"  
  
Ron wrinkled his long nose, Hermione had related the whole story to him, of how and why Malfoy had changed, but it was the kissing that took precedence and really rankled him. "I don't care whether he's 'changed' Hermione, he's still a rich git and Harry's too good for him."  
  
"I seem to remember you saying much the same thing about Dean."  
  
Ron looked down at the girl he had loved for so long, "Hermione, this is not the same thing, and you know it. This is Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!" He sighed into her hair, "Friendship I could live with, but this?"  
  
Hermione lifted her head up to look at him, "I'm not sure I like it either, but it looks like they need each other, Ron. You didn't see them, they were so-" she shook her head slightly, "I don't know, tender? Loving? I don't think they even noticed it themselves, but there's something between them." She paused again, brow knotted slightly, as if she was trying to figure something out. Eventually she put her chin on his chest and looked up at him, "Anyway, I think Harry needs someone who knows what it's like to be- well, someone who understands the- the darkness inside him."  
  
Ron started to protest but quieted when one of her fingers touched his lips, "You know as well as I that there is darkness deep inside him, a darkness that will one day be set free, and he needs someone beside him who understands it. Who better than Malfoy? I mean, he's been steeped in darkness since the day he was born."  
  
Ron watched her closely as she removed the finger from his lips and sighed, "Doesn't mean I'm any happier about it than you, though." Ron settled back thoughtfully, staring up at the sky, mulling over what she had said. Maybe she was right. She normally was.  
  
But Malfoy? Why the hell did Harry have to go and fall for him? For the miserable little git who had tormented all three of them since their first day at Hogwarts? He decided he was going to keep and eye on the blonde Slytherin, whether Hermione said they were good for each other or not, he was never going to like him, never going to trust him.  
  
Though, for Harry's sake, he'd try and tolerate him.  
  
* * * *  
  
He was finally allowed out of bed. He made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, looking at everything on the way with interest. This place was aptly named, and amazingly homey. There were things everywhere, trinkets and photographs, boxes of un-named content, paintings of rather beautiful, but slightly twee, country scenes. It all served to make him feel very at home, though a little out of place in his smart clothes.  
  
He gaped when he stepped into the kitchen. He'd never really seen one before, to tell the truth. He'd always had his food delivered to him, or eaten in the dining room with his parents at home, and at Hogwarts, it was easier to send Crabbe and Goyle. This room was wonderful.  
  
It was cluttered, warm, old and very much alive. Molly smiled at him as he sat at the table, looking around at the pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling, the enormous stove, the washing-up doing itself in the sink, the herbs drying on the wall, the - "Mrs Weasley, your home is amazing."  
  
Molly turned a very bright and pleased smile on him and plunked a large plate of food on the table in front of him, just as Harry and Ron came in, both looking as if they had just woken up. If anything, Harry's hair was worse than usual and Ron kept rubbing his eyes. "What's for breakfast, mum?" The tall red-head asked as they both sat down, Harry across from him.  
  
Harry gave him a searching, critical look, "How are you today, Draco?" Ron was watching them both with sleepy irritation. He shrugged, he didn't say much when Ron was around, he knew Harry had noticed this, but didn't let it bother him, there really wasn't any point, he and the tall Gryffindor were never going to get on. He watched as Harry stifled a sigh and then they, all three, tucked into breakfast.  
  
Hermione came in from the garden a few minutes later, Ron looked up and, round a mouthful of bacon, asked, "Do you ever sleep?" She took the seat next to Draco and smiled sweetly, "Just because you boy's are dead to the world until nine, doesn't mean I am." She took a sausage off Ron's plate and nibbled it, "Anyway, you waste the best part of the day getting up as late as you do. There's so much you can get done, and then you can spend the rest of the day relaxing."  
  
She raised her eyebrows as the three boys stared at her, "Fred and George'll be here soon, anyway," she said rather primly and got up, sweeping from the room. Draco wrinkled his nose and uttered his first word in Ron's presence since last year, "Girls."  
  
Harry laughed and Ron sputtered slightly as Mrs Weasley nodded, smiling in silent agreement and placing more food on their plates.  
  
The twins turned up around lunch time, all smiles and jokes, right up until the point in which they spotted him. He had hidden himself away in the corner of the lounge, sitting in the arm-chair tucking his legs up under him, his nose in a book. Harry had sat on the sofa for a while, just a few feet from him, but had got up with everyone else when Fred and George arrived.  
  
They both looked over at him in blank surprise, identical expressions on their perfectly identical faces. He raised an eyebrow at them, casually turning a page of 'Pride and Prejudice'. He didn't say a word, simply looked at them for a moment, then turned back to the book.  
  
He was aware of a hushed conversation and then one of them, he couldn't tell which, was standing in front of him.  
  
"Malfoy." He looked up, carefully marking his page and closing the book. The twin looked down at him and then held out his hand. Draco gave it a blank look for a moment, then raised his eyebrow and took hit.  
  
"I'm Fred, welcome to the family."  
  
"Pardon?" He broke his long silence, staring up at the freckled twin, Fred, who grinned. "You helped save Harry, Dumbledore seems to like you, you're not a Death Eater." His hand was let go and Fred stuffed it into his pocket and shrugged, "Three very good reasons, and I'm sure there are more," did he just wink? Draco thought incredulously, "for you to join the family."  
  
Then he was gone. Draco blinked again and watched as everyone but Harry left the room, talking animatedly, laughing about something one of the twins said. Harry smiled at him as he caught the green eyes with his own.  
  
"What, exactly, was that about?" He unfolded his legs and stood up as Harry shoved his hands in his pockets with a shy grin.  
  
"Molly sent owls to the whole family about what happened in Bath, and the other night." Draco rolled his eyes, "That doesn't really answer the question. What was Fred on about?"  
  
Harry looked at the floor, then back up at him, "They have this thing about me. They're the only family I have, and I've pretty much been adopted. To be invited into the family like that, and by Fred or George of all people, means the whole family, well, welcomes you." The Gryffindor fidgeted slightly, "Among other things."  
  
Draco frowned, "Even Weasley?" he asked skeptically, "And what 'other things?'"  
  
"Even Ron, he's my brother, we've talked, he's, well, he's trying his best." Harry appeared a little uncomfortable and shrugged, declining to answer Draco's second question. There was an uncomfortable silence.  
  
* * * *  
  
"You want to play chess?"  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
"Against me?"  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, "Of course against you, Malfoy. If you're as good at chess as you are at being a git, it should be a good game."  
  
Well, how could he turn down an offer like that? He gave Ron a disarming grin and agreed.  
  
He lost three times in a row. They were playing for two and a half hours, and he lost every game. He gave the red-head an exasperated look and then sat back, glaring at the chess board.  
  
"I don't think staring at it will help, Malfoy. Though, Merlin knows, Harry's tried often enough."  
  
Draco switched the glare over to Ron. The red-head wasn't giving him an inch, he'd been perfectly amiable throughout every game, not gloating once, not making remarks of any kind. Ron had simply kept any talk light and to the point. Harry had said the youngest Weasley boy was trying, it seemed he was right.  
  
"I was simply trying to figure out how you, of all people, managed to beat me three times in a row," he drawled in his best 'I'm mildly approving' voice. The taller boy appeared to pick up on the tone.  
  
"Simple," Ron sat back, casually folding his arms, "I'm the best chess player at Hogwarts." There was a seconds pause before he amended, "Out of the students, anyway."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow, "I see modesty doesn't play a very prominent part in your vocabulary. How fortunate we are."  
  
The damn Gryffindor simply grinned at him, blue eyes sparkling, and then leaned forward, "Another game?" Draco pursed his lips, still glaring, then nodded, determined to beat the other boy this time around. It was highly annoying to have discovered Ron Weasley was such a good chess player, he himself happened to be the best player in Slytherin's entire house and he prided himself on his game play.  
  
Once, during a particularly bad period of depression last year, he had beaten Severus Snape. It had been the only thing at that time to cheer him up. Snape had been 'miffed' to say the least and Draco had realised, and relished the knowledge, that Snape was rather a sore loser.  
  
It took another hour's worth of play, but he finally managed to out play Ron. He looked down at the board for a moment and then glanced up, eyebrows slightly raised. The red-head was frowning slightly, chewing on a knuckle. "Check-mate," he muttered, then blue eyes lifted to meet gray and Ron grinned again.  
  
"I hate to say it, Malfoy, but you play very well, you're much better than Harry."  
  
Draco sat back again, frowning at the board, "Doesn't Granger play?" It would be a long time, still, before he felt at all comfortable to call Harry's two best friends by their given names, even to Harry himself.  
  
"Yeah, but she's terrible. Honestly!" He must have seen the expression Draco had tried to hide, "She's bloody intelligent and I love her dearly, but she can't play chess to save her life."  
  
For some reason, this warmed Draco inside. Finally there was something he could do that she could not. He didn't feel the perverse pleasure that he was sure he would have not two years ago, just simply a strange spark of pride in his ability.  
  
"That's a first, I'm sure." He couldn't help himself, after years of conditioning; he just couldn't stop his brain from breaking contact with his vocal chords and saying something so bloody stupid. He briefly closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip, hoping to high hell that Ron could laugh it off or something.  
  
He opened his eyes in surprise when Ron said, "Harry's right." He looked at the boy sitting across from him, his gray eyes widening slightly, "Pardon?" He asked the question in an unintentionally faint voice.  
  
Ron began putting away the chess men, carefully and methodically wrapping each individual piece, "Harry said you'd changed, and he's right. I can see it now." Draco frowned slightly, what had he said, or done for that matter, that had led Ron to say that? He glanced over and found himself the object of a penetrating blue gaze. Holding the two Queens in his large square hands, Ron was watching him.  
  
"You've changed so much it's almost easy to pretend you're someone else and have fun." The two Queens disappeared into their separate wrappings and were placed carefully in with the other pieces.  
  
Draco blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked acerbically.  
  
Ron stood, the box held almost lovingly in his strong looking arms. "It means I'm beginning to see what Harry can see. It means that, for his sake alone, I'll do my best to at least get on with you." The taller boy, almost looming over him, paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, "But, if you hurt him, in any way, you had better be prepared for my arrival. I will take you down without a second thought; one afternoon of chess does not serve to wipe your slate clean, not in my eyes."  
  
There was a long silence then Ron grinned, "Thanks for the games, let's do it again sometime." Ron nodded almost amiably and Draco watched his back as he left the room, realizing, not for the first time, that Harry was extremely lucky in his choice of friends.  
  
* * * *  
  
They received their Hogwarts letters the next day and all five students sat around the breakfast table reading them through. As Hermione and Harry unfolded theirs they both stopped in surprise. Draco cocked an eyebrow at Ron and Ginny when the two of them glanced at each other with shocked expressions. Then Hermione squealed and almost launched herself across the table throwing her arms around the surprised raven-haired Gryffindor.  
  
"We're Head Boy and Girl!" She cried ecstatically, almost jumping up and down in her enthusiasm. Harry just looked a little incredulous. Draco pulled out his own, ordinary Prefect's badge and glanced at Ron, who did the same. He shrugged, it wasn't Head Boy, but it would do.  
  
Eventually everyone calmed down enough for Mrs Weasley to begin feeding them, chattering on about how proud she was that Harry and Hermione had been chosen for such respected positions. Finally, when everyone was tucking in and reading through the letters, she left the kitchen. Draco took this opportunity to find out what Harry was studying besides the two lessons they shared.  
  
"You're doing Advanced Defense against the Dark Arts?" he said, looking over Harry's shoulder. The two Weasley children and Hermione looked at him as Harry nodded, taking a bite of his toast. He was slightly surprised, though he supposed he shouldn't be, this was 'Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived', after all. He ignored the looks he was undoubtedly receiving from three of the four other students at the table and studied his books list.  
  
He was taking Advanced Potions with Harry, Advanced Arithmency with Hermione and Advanced Transfiguration with all three of them, though he wasn't entirely sure they knew. All last year he had hidden himself away at the back of all his classes, quietly getting on with his work, ignoring and being ignored in return.  
  
The books list this year looked highly academic, even for Potions. He wondered for a moment what else Ron and Hermione were taking, then asked them. For some unexplainable reason, Hermione's eyes lit up, "Advanced Charms and Muggle studies," she informed him with a small smile, "I want to teach after Hogwarts and these courses help me on the way."  
  
She nudged Ron who frowned slightly, going pink at the ears before mumbling, "Muggle Studies and Advanced Divination." Ginny giggled while Harry and Hermione laughed lightly, causing Ron to blush even more. Draco gave them all a puzzled look, "What?"  
  
Ron stared restlessly at his breakfast plate as Harry explained. Apparently after years of going on about how crap Divination was, Ron had discovered he actually had a talent for it, discovered that he was in fact a natural Seer. The very idea of all those wasted years kept grating on the young red- head's nerves apparently. Ron had decided, though, that he didn't want to follow his talent up in a professional career, which was why he was also taking Muggle studies, he wanted to work at the Ministry, hopefully in Muggle Relations.  
  
Draco smiled in slight bewilderment. Ron Weasley, a Seer? Wonders truly never ceased.  
  
"What about you?" he asked, turning to Harry allowing Ron the respite of a change of subject. The raven-haired Gryffindor gave a small shrug, "I'm not sure really. At the Fifth year interviews I said something about wanting to be an Auror, so I'm taking the right courses for it, but I'm not so sure anymore."  
  
Draco got the distinct impression that there was a lot more on the subject that Harry wanted to tell him, but couldn't because of the presence of the others. At that moment Ginny piped in, her gentle voice interrupting the searching look Draco was giving Harry. Their eyes locked for a moment, then he turned to the only Weasley daughter.  
  
She had grown into a rather pretty young woman over the years, her slight figure matching her gentle voice perfectly. The red colour of her hair had deepened slightly and she now looked as if she could take on anything. Draco noted it all in a slightly objective manner. He looked back at his plate, "Advanced Potions, Transfiguration and Arithmency."  
  
Harry was the only one who didn't look shocked. So he was right in his assumptions, Harry was the only person who had noticed his presence in their shared lessons. Hermione appeared to recover first, "Why those lessons? What do you intend to do with them?"  
  
She sounded truly interested, her voice and eyes proved this, but he shrugged, a little embarrassed by what he was about to admit. "My, uh, father chose the courses for me." The crestfallen expression on Hermione's face stung a little and he noticed Harry's brow had risen slightly. Ron and Ginny simply looked appalled.  
  
He clearly remembered the letter he had received from his parents, sometime near the end of Fifth year, before his father had been apprehended and sent to Azkaban. It had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that both his father and his mother wished for him to take these courses. It hadn't explained why, and he had never thought to ask. He had been more than a little disappointed as he had wanted to take Advanced DADA rather than Arithmency, but he had complied with their thinly veiled order and signed up with a heavy heart.  
  
He blinked slowly at the various expressions round the table and was thankfully interrupted by Mrs Weasley before he had to explain all this. Molly came bustling in, talking animatedly about preparing for their trip to Diagon Alley to replenish their dwindling stores and buy their new things.  
  
He sighed inwardly but caught Harry's eyes and noticed the emerald orbs never once left his face for the rest of the morning.  
  
* * * *  
  
Diagon Alley. A week before they returned to Hogwarts, and they were finally at Diagon Alley. He'd been looking forward to this, even if they did have to have three Auror's wearing invisibility cloaks following them around. Harry wrinkled his nose at the thought. He often traveled in his own invisibility cloak, so knew what it was like, to see but not be seen. Being on the receiving end though, was a little different, especially considering he knew they were there, just not where they were.  
  
He followed Ron and Hermione into Gringotts, Draco trailing behind him, and stood to one side as they both went to get out some money. He glanced at Draco, "Not getting anything?" Draco blinked at him before shrugging.  
  
"I have open accounts with all the shops here."  
  
Harry held back a snort of mirth and smiled instead, he should have known really. The Malfoy's were one of the richest wizarding families around; it was almost to be expected. He frowned when he thought of something though, "Wont your mother have...?"  
  
Draco shook his head, "I've got my own account, only I can close it, in person, for each shop."  
  
Harry noticed the slightly shorter blonde looked a little embarrassed about the whole thing. But then, so would he. He knew what it was like having more money than those around you, for years he'd been at odds with himself over buying things for Ron, lending him money, that kind of thing. It was only recently, now that the twins had money to go around, that he had been entirely comfortable on the subject of money with the tall red-head, though he still didn't mention it.  
  
They both leaned against the wall under the watchful eye of several goblins, waiting for Ron and Hermione to finish, in comfortable silence. They did that a lot these days, shared comfortable silences. He watched as Ron eyed the muggle money Hermione was exchanging before they both went to get some of his own out of the Weasley account.  
  
They were gone for a while, but when the couple returned the four of them trooped into Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. Ron needed new robes, he had grown rather substantially over the last year, and all his clothes were too small for him. Harry thought it wouldn't hurt for him to buy himself something new either. Maybe a dress robe, for the Graduation Ball?  
  
He gave Draco a sheepish kind of smile, noting a similar expression on the blonde's face as they entered the shop. Obviously the same thought was going through Draco's mind. The last time they had been in this shop together had been the very first time they had met, just over seven years ago. Harry glanced at the back of the shop. It looked almost exactly as it had back then, even down to the two footstools.  
  
'.... I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been ....'  
  
He glanced at Draco again as Ron stood in the back with Hermione watching as the squat Madam Malkin, who was now rather gray, attempted to reach the obscenely tall boy's neckline. She was actually standing on one of the footstools instead of the red-head.  
  
He wondered, not for the first time, what it must have been like living as a Malfoy, having your every thought, move, decision predetermined simply by your family name and a father like Lucius. He looked through a rack of smart dress robes, contemplating, slowly coming to the conclusion that Draco had coped because he hadn't known any different. It had probably helped that, back then, he really had been a little git who enjoyed the life he was living.  
  
He wrinkled his nose at the thought. From the very day he was born, Draco had lived as Lucius and Narcissa wished, not knowing how different life could be. Just as he, Harry, had lived under the Dursley's thumb, never knowing a kind word, never understanding, just as Draco hadn't, that life could have been different.  
  
Everything had changed, for the both of them, when they had gone to Hogwarts. Harry had made friends and seen families that were happy and loving; Draco's eyes had been opened to the world, his opinions challenged.  
  
He pulled out a very smart, old style, deep purple robe that had small silver buttons trailing from the waist right up under the chin. He held it up against himself and looked in the floor length mirror critically.  
  
"It's not really your colour," Draco said from his right. He looked over and smiled, "No?" He placed it back on the rack and continued his search.  
  
"Try this one," Draco handed him an emerald, loose fit robe, the kind that you had to slip on over your head, with a matching pair of black trousers that had emerald detailing down the sides. He held it up to himself and looked in the mirror again.  
  
Draco was right, this colour did look kind of good, it matched his eyes almost perfectly, and the loose fit looked comfortable. But he wasn't sure the style would suit him. He glanced at the other boy's reflection, seeing the gray eyes watching him intently. At that moment one of the shop assistants bustled over, talking animatedly about the colour and making as if to measure him.  
  
"Oh! This would certainly look good on you Mister Potter!" the scrawny witch enthused, almost dragging him to the fitting area. He threw Draco a pleading look but received only a slight grin in response. The woman ushered him into one of the cubicles at the back and closed the curtains, cutting his view of Draco who had turned back to the racks of robes.  
  
He pulled his day robe off and stepped out of his shoes and jeans, pulling the black trousers on first. They were pretty comfortable and fit him well. Then he pulled on the dress robe and was surprised. The sleeves, that had looked loose before, were actually fitted and clung to his arms from the elbow to the wrist, ending in a point that lay across the back of his hand. From the elbow to shoulder, the sleeves flowed, almost airily, draping from his shoulders.  
  
He ran his hands down his chest, smoothing the soft material and looking at himself in the floor length mirror. He didn't look half as bad as he thought he would. Apparently the style did suit him.  
  
When he stepped out he was grabbed by the woman again and found himself standing next to Ron. His two best friends gave him an appraising look as the witch started pinning the hem. He smiled shyly at them and then turned when they both looked to his left with mildly surprised expressions.  
  
Draco had stepped out of the end cubicle wearing the deep purple robe he had first picked out. Harry blinked. The blonde Slytherin looked, well, gorgeous; there was no other word for it. The old style of the robe suited him perfectly and the colour made his pale hair and skin almost glow, matching the sparkling silver buttons.  
  
Harry swallowed and looked down at the witch playing with the hem of his robe, mumbling to herself. Suddenly, and rather inexplicably, his palms were sweaty. He wished, almost fervently, that he and Draco were alone and wondered what the smooth material of the robe felt like warmed by the heat of the Slytherin's body.  
  
He blinked in surprise, catching his breath silently.  
  
Ok. So he obviously found Draco bloody attractive, and there was this, well, 'thing' going on between them that tended to break all his barriers and make him kiss the shorter boy at every opportunity, but he hadn't had a reaction like that since -  
  
Since the night in Draco's hotel room, when he had comforted him after the vision.  
  
And he had stopped that as soon as he could, because he wasn't in to casual relationships, certainly not casual, well, what they had been about to do.  
  
He glanced at Draco. Another shop assistant, a man this time, was measuring him up and pinning various bits of the robe. The blonde looked perfectly at home, as if being fawned over in such a way was perfectly normal. He swallowed and turned to look at Ron and Hermione, neither of whom looked particularly comfortable. Ron was now trying on a midnight blue dress robe that suited him and Hermione was eyeing him with an unmistakable expression that could only be described as 'need.'  
  
He went back to concentrating on his own thoughts. His reservations about casual relationships was not a new thing. He was a very tactile person, he knew, and enjoyed the touch of a lover, but despite this he abstained unless in a serious, monogamous relationship. This 'thing' between Draco and himself though, it annoyed him that he had broken his own ground rules, especially considering that he didn't give one jot for them at the time. Just so long as he could feel those lips against his once more.  
  
He sighed, not noticing the looks this received and wandered just exactly what it was Draco wanted. They had already decided their friendship was worth the hassle. Draco himself had said he didn't care what the other Slytherin's, let alone the rest of the student body, thought. But this 'thing?'  
  
More than once, last year, Harry had seen Draco leaving deserted classrooms with other boys. He had only ever seen one of them more than twice. Terry Boot. It was this attitude towards relationships that stayed Harry's hand on the subject. If Draco was completely comfortable with all that casual, um, lovemaking (god, he couldn't even think the bloody word) how seriously would he take Harry's advances? Would he want to keep it casual, as with all his other conquests, or would he really....?  
  
He glanced at Draco again as the scrawny witch stood and patted him on the shoulder, letting him know that she was done. He moved quickly to the changing cubicle and pulled the newly sized robe over his head. For a moment he stood there, holding the soft material in slightly trembling hands then leaned against the back wall. Passing a hand over his eyes, he sighed again. He didn't truly know how he felt for Draco, only that he wanted him rather badly and that every moment in his mere presence made him unbelievably happy, but also tortured because of the suppressed urges. Argh.  
  
He folded the robe and stepped out of the trousers and into his own jeans. He pulled his day robe over his head, not bothering to take off his glasses, which ended up wonky, and slipped his trainers on. He smoothed his hands over his robe, looking at himself critically in the mirror again, passing his eyes over his broad shoulders and Quidditch toned torso, then shook his head and stepped out of the cubicle.  
  
It appeared he'd been in there longer than he thought; everyone had already paid for everything and were stood waiting for him, talking casually about nothing. He apologized and hurriedly bought the robe and trousers before joining them at the doorway.  
  
They separated a moment later and Harry found himself alone with Draco as they headed next door to Flourish and Blotts to get their new books. Draco pulled out his list and glanced at it, "Oh good, only one each, this year. You?"  
  
Harry looked at his own list, "Yeah, but I've got to get a couple for Occlumency." Draco wrinkled his nose, rather fetchingly, and pushed the door open. Ever since his second year, Harry had felt more than a little awkward in this shop, despite the homey atmosphere and old book smell that reminded him of Hermione. He supposed it was only natural; he had been given some rather nasty negative associations with the place.  
  
They moved down the aisles, the books on the list this year were not new and most of the classes sufficiently small enough that what was already on the shelves sufficed for the entire year. As Draco pulled out a book, Harry noticed he was frowning slightly. "What's wrong?"  
  
Draco started and nearly dropped the rather large Arithmency text he was holding. He shrugged, almost pulling off the nonchalant gesture. "Just, remembering."  
  
Harry involuntarily caught his breath. Oh. It appeared that same afternoon was passing through Draco's mind. They continued further into the shop, through the winding aisles and stacks, in silence for a while. Then Draco said, quietly, "I was telling the truth you know. I didn't know anything about that damned diary until Father came home complaining about it," he paused, "And Dobby, of course."  
  
Harry found the shelf he was looking for and knelt down, letting Draco's voice flow through his senses as he read through the various titles, looking for the DADA text he needed. When he found it, it was rather larger than he had been prepared for. He pulled it off the shelf and stood, catching Draco's eyes with his own. The blonde looked at him steadily for a moment, "Thank-you for releasing Dobby, by the way."  
  
Harry blinked, shifting the weight of the book, "Why?"  
  
It was rather close down here, gloomy, a little dusty. They were quite far back in the store at the moment and as he had asked the hidden Aurors to wait at the shop entrances whenever they went inside, he knew they were alone. Draco smiled almost sadly. "Dobby never really got on with the other House Elves; they didn't know what to make of him."  
  
Harry smiled warmly, "Yeah, the House Elve's at Hogwarts are a little wierded out by him." Draco nodded, slowly, his eyes drooping closed for a moment. They were drawing slowly closer and their eyes had locked, green on gray. Studying them, Harry noticed that they still had that dull look about them and found that he wished he could make them sparkle once more, as brightly as they had not three weeks ago.  
  
Shifting the books weight again he said, almost whispering the words, "It was the least I could do for him." He turned his head slightly; studying the other boy's expression then lifted his now free hand, gently tracing suddenly sensitized fingertips over Draco's pale cheek.  
  
The blondes eyes fell closed at the touch and Harry leaned closer, closing the almost non-existent distance between them. "Look at me," he whispered and the gray eyes opened. He smiled, the dullness was receding slightly. All it had taken was a touch. Would they sparkle again if he....? Trailing his fingers down Draco's neck and resting them on his lightly trembling shoulder, he leaned in and brushed his lips over the other boy's.  
  
After a moment they were standing in a strange one armed embrace, the two books held almost forgotten between them, Draco's head resting on his shoulder. Tightening his arm around Draco's shoulders, he quietly asked the question that had been troubling him almost from their first meeting in Bath.  
  
"What do you want, Draco?"  
  
There was a moment's silence in which he began to think the other boy hadn't heard him and then there came the equally quiet answer.  
  
"You."  
  
* * * *  
  
The rest of their trip to Diagon Alley passed relatively quickly. In each shop they visited they couldn't help catching each others eye and smiling, if a little hesitantly. After Draco had answered him, they had taken a few minutes to talk, though they didn't really get much further than mutual confessions before their lips had met again. He had no idea what to call this new development between them, but he silently decided 'thing' would do until he found a better word than 'relationship.' The word just sounded to girly, and the phrase 'going out,' though describing the situation well, just seemed entirely too childish.  
  
Well, whatever they called it, it was now official. At least between the two of them, and that was where it mattered, right? He idly wandered, while they were replenishing their Potions supplies, how Draco would react to his wanting to tell Ron and Hermione later.  
  
His boyfriend (partner?) simply shrugged, a small smile playing on his perfect lips and said he could tell them what he wanted, so long as he did it when he wasn't in the same room, as he rather liked his face the way it was, thank you very much. At that Harry had laughed lightly and told him not to worry so much. He had noticed, though, that the sparkle was returning to the blonde's beautiful, icy gray eyes.  
  
Laden down with what would hopefully get them through their final year at Hogwarts, they headed for The Leaky Cauldron to meet up with Ron and Hermione for a quick drink before returning to the Burrow.  
  
They were already there, sitting right at the back of the room, four mugs of butterbeer arranged before them. Harry threw his bags under the table and collapsed into the seat across from Ron, next to the wall. He placed his forehead on his forearms with a contented 'I'm-not-going-to-move-for- the-next-half-an-hour' sigh. He kicked his bags to one side as Draco slid in next to him, dumping his own bags in the newly vacated space under the table.  
  
"Have fun?" Hermione's voice, accompanied by the sound of two mugs being pushed across the old wooden surface of the table. "You don't know the half of it," Draco's voice answered rather ambiguously, accompanied by the sound of one of the mugs being picked up.  
  
After a short pause, Ron's voice said, rather jovially, "You gunna drink that, mate? Coz' if you don't, I will."  
  
Harry finally lifted his head, giving his best friend a mock glare as he picked up the mug and took a swig before returning his head to his arms. There was laughter from all three watching him as he did this. He felt Draco's knee move and press against his own and smiled into the darkness under his arms.  
  
"Hey! Harry, guys!"  
  
He groaned, recognizing the voice instantly and looked up. Colin Creevey was heading towards them, his ever present camera in his hands. They boy hadn't grown much over the years, he was still as slight as ever, though a little taller, still mousy and still embarrassingly enthusiastic in Harry's presence.  
  
"Oh, not now," Harry mumbled so only Draco could hear him earning a raised eyebrow in response. Only a few feet from the table Colin stopped, seeming to register just who it was that was sitting with the Gryffindor trio. Harry took in Draco's arrogant expression and refrained from rolling his eyes.  
  
"Hey, Colin. Grab a seat?"  
  
Colin appeared to recover himself and nodded, pulling up a chair from a neighboring table. He seated himself between Draco and Hermione at the end of the table and fiddled with his camera somewhat. For the first time since any of them had known him, the boy seemed at a loss for words. His eyes kept darting in the Slytherin's direction and he was flushing slightly. Harry and Ron exchanged glances.  
  
Draco sighed, making them all jump, "I'm not going to bite, you know."  
  
"Draco...." Harry started, but Colin, now blushing furiously, interrupted him, eyeing the blonde skeptically. "Yeah, well, anyway...." He paused and turned to Harry, "How was your summer? I spent a couple of weeks in Spain and got loads of pictures, I'm going to use Snape's new dark rooms again to process the films. Did you take my advice and use a camera over your holiday?"  
  
Hermione looked as if she were trying to stifle giggles at Colin's behavior and Draco looked rather affronted, his lips pinched together into a thin enough line to rival McGonagall's best. Harry tried an indulgent smile, pressing his knee against Draco's without looking at him.  
  
"I'm glad your summer went so well, and yes, I did actually take some photos in Bath - maybe you could develop them for me?" He deftly took Colin off the subject of his own summer and stole a glance at Draco. The blonde now had his arms folded rather tightly and appeared to be studying the ceiling.  
  
"That's great! I'd love to! Mind if I take a few photos, now?" With that the younger boy jumped to his feet, the camera already in his hands. Before any of them could respond he had taken photographs of each of them - including Draco, rather surprisingly - and was lining up for a group shot.  
  
"I'll see you at Hogwarts, Harry!" A moment later, he was gone.  
  
"Ron snorted and Hermione finally allowed herself to giggle, "He never changes, does he?" she said, trying to catch her breath.  
  
* * * *  
  
Draco flipped the page of his book and sighed silently, running his fingers through Harry's dark hair. He was sitting on the sofa in the Weasley's living room, the Gryffindor's head on his knees, Ron and Hermione were sitting with their backs against the sofa, legs stretched out towards the fire, reading through their Muggle Studies text.  
  
Earlier that evening, after returning to the Burrow, Harry had told his two closest friends about their, well, relationship for want of a better word. Much to his continued surprise, Ron had not attempted to throttle him, only given him a rather tense glare before wishing the two of them every happiness together.  
  
He wasn't entirely comfortable around Ron and Hermione just yet, but he was trying. 'Blergh' he thought, finishing a chapter and turning the page. He was nearly finished 'Watership Down', having finished 'Pride and Prejudice' after only a couple of days. He'd raided the, admittedly spartan, Weasley library for anything by muggle authors. He'd found a few, but he'd read them all before so decided to stick with an old favorite.  
  
He felt Harry stir, "I wonder how else people will react?" he mumbled, making Draco's knees vibrate slightly. Draco wrinkled his nose; obviously Harry was on about that camera totting creep from earlier and his rather embarrassing reaction to seeing the two of them sitting together.  
  
Hermione looked up from the book she and Ron were perusing, giving the two of them a sympathetic look. "You two are really going to have to think about what's going to happen next week." Draco nodded slightly at her, actually allowing them to hear him sigh this time.  
  
Ron looked up and over Hermione's head, frowning a little, "She's right, Harry. You two might have to keep it quiet." He looked up and blue eyes locked on gray for a moment, "Just to make sure you don't become more of a target than you already are." He looked like he was saying something against his nature and Draco supposed he may very well be, considering their history.  
  
Harry rolled over and looked up at him with a concerned frown. He looked down at him and thought about what they were saying. After a year of harboring deep emotion for the raven-haired Gryffindor, he finally had him, finally knew the feelings were reciprocated. He could hold him; kiss him, without having to feel guilty, as if he had stolen the acts from him somehow. Did he want to risk all this so soon after gaining it?  
  
He completely understood what they were telling him. Simply being one of Harry's friends was a danger in itself, but being his partner? His lover? There was a whole new level of danger added when that new level of closeness, attachment, was taken into consideration. Harry was too noble a person, he, Draco, could be used against him in any number of ways that just didn't bare thinking about.  
  
He shifted slightly, the fingers he had been trailing through Harry's hair moving to one strong shoulder and grasping lightly. Their eyes met and with a nod, they agreed, they would go on as they had, keeping the feelings only the four of them knew about, between them.  
  
At least, for the time being.  
  
* * * *  
  
Hermione was enlisted to order the taxi's needed to take them all to the station when September first arrived. Draco found it almost amusing the way Arthur Weasley hung on Hermione's every word while using the telephone in the village down the road.  
  
When the morning arrived, Draco finally learned something most people know instinctively. Even the most loving of families can break out into heated argument over the smallest and most trivial of things. Especially on a moving day.  
  
He had never known such utter turmoil. He had actually packed the night before, using basic summoning charms to find all his things as quickly as possible. He had even placed his trunk by the front door in preparation. It appeared that no one else, not even Hermione, had though of doing anything similar.  
  
Calmly eating a slice of toast, he sat on his trunk wearing the smartly tailored shirt and trousers he always wore under his school robes, watching the tableau unfold about him with a people-watcher's keen interest.  
  
He watched as Ron stumbled past and into the kitchen, pulling a maroon coloured jumper over his head that clashed horribly with his hair. A moment later, Ron stumbled past again, slightly quicker, with a slice of toast hanging from his mouth and his arms full of folded robes. Draco stifled a burst of laughter as Mr Weasley rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen, attempting to drink a handful of socks and put on a mug of coffee, almost falling over as he hoped on one foot.  
  
Ginny and Hermione both rushed past at one point, the latter's hair more bushy than ever, both looking rather harassed and as if they hadn't had a chance to get in front of a mirror yet. About half an hour before the taxi's arrived, Harry came down the stairs, his trunk trailing after him. The raven-haired Gryffindor deposited the trunk outside the front door and then joined Draco, mutely pilfering one of the slices of toast and yawning as he nibbled. The sat together, silently watching those less prepared running around the house, colliding on the stairs and yelling at each other over various lost items.  
  
When the taxi's turned up, the two of them helped everyone else to pack everything in. As there were five trunks to accommodate, they had ordered two taxi's, Draco found himself sharing one of them with Harry and Arthur Weasley, whom he was surprised to see Harry constantly calming down every time he tried to start conversation with the driver.  
  
Eventually they arrived at the station and took it in turns to go through the barrier onto platform 9 3/4 with fifteen minutes to spare. When Draco stepped through, Harry at his side, there was a sudden hush amongst the many students and their families already there.  
  
He glanced at Harry briefly and saw the determined set of the taller boy's jaw. After a moment, the hush faded to be replaced by the usual chattering of the crowds and they made their way to the end carriage, Ron, Hermione and Ginny appearing just a minute or so later, Mr and Mrs Weasley in tow. They all looked a little worried, but said nothing as the two boy's helped them with the trunks.  
  
Ginny ran off to join her fellow sixth years further along the train after saying goodbye to her parents and, with only a few more moments to go, the four remaining teenagers said their farewells. Hermione leaned out the window and waved as the train began to move and Draco dropped onto one of the seats, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.  
  
Harry caught his eye and smiled, they had a lot more to expect from their fellow students in the not to distant future.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"It is so small a thing To have enjoyed the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved to have thought, to have done."  
  
Mathew Arnold - Empedocles on Etna.  
  
Chapter Two: A few thing's explained, a little drawing, some kissing, all out war and a few surprises.  
  
Well. Chapter one ^^; I hope you all enjoyed it, and please forgive the mostly fluffy nature of it ^^; Chapter two is currently under production. I apologize to those who hated the length, but be warned all the chapters will be around this long from now on.  
  
Goldengirl : yeah, poor Draco ^^;  
  
Brenna8 : I have a tendancy to do such things ^^;  
  
Kendra1117 : Thanks for the compliments, and I hope this is entirely long haul enough for you ^^!  
  
Ccs rox : Updated enough for you? ^^  
  
Redmeadow : Yay, really? ^^ thanks ^^  
  
Eriadne : *lol* here you go then, dear ^^  
  
Slytherinkid07 : Thanks, glad you enjoyed it all so much and does this chapter satisfy?  
  
Sadiew : Read the previous story to get a better idea of whats going on here ^^ they are indeed together, as you may now be able to notice ^^  
  
Jen : Hey girl ^^ long time no see. Thanks a lot ^^ and yeah, I enjoyed writing Ron's reaction ^^; you get to see from his and Hermione's points of view in this 'epic' so hopefully it should be fun ^^;  
  
Miss Lesley : I understand what you're going on about, and actually I have pretty much the same qualms about some Fics. For my part, I have actually done my best to make sure that doesn't happen in this story. In the case I think you're on about, Harry was actually reminding Ron of something he already knew, and he didn't even know the specifics, just the generals, and it isn't changing Ron's feelings on Draco. Ron still dislikes the guy, but out of his kinship with Harry, he is doing his best to overcome the feelings. Hope that all makes sense oo;  
  
Hannah 


	3. Chapter 02

All recognizable characters are © J.K. Rowling, I own nothing but the story ^^ Which is highly AU I suppose. Rah.  
  
A/N: I've only just been told (after writing this entire chapter!) the actual system and how it works in schools like Hogwarts in real life, so you're going to have to bare in mind the fact that I didn't know Prefects are only Prefects for two years and are then either shunted out of it or turned into Head Boys/Girls ^^; So, for the purposes of my fiction, Ron and Draco are still Prefects, as are the other Prefects in Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, Hermione and Harry are now Head's.  
  
(It's sad isn't it? I'm British and I don't know the flippin' house system oo; But then, I always went to 'Army' run schools at primary age, in Germany no less, and then usual 'take-in-every-ruffian-from-the-street' school afterwards, then College, now Uni ^^ I suppose I should look such things up really, as I will be training to teach in a year and a half's time!)  
  
Oh, and I've decided to kick my spell checker in the butt coz in Divide it turned names like 'Lucius' into 'Luscious' and so on, hopefully now I'm spelling things correctly. A warning though, as with Divide, these chapters are all UN-BETA'd, so there may well still be mistakes here and there, though hopefully I've noticed them all ^^  
  
Questions and Answers etc below ^^  
  
Now, without further ado, here's Chapter Two! (Oh, all out war doesn't happen 'til Chapter Three now oo; sorry ^^)  
  
Hey, I made a rhyme.... and that reminds me, I wrote a Sorting Hat Song!  
  
* * * *  
  
Chapter Two  
  
"I can't find them anywhere. And my housemates, surprise, surprise, are not being particularly forthcoming."  
  
Ron looked up as Malfoy lowered himself into the window seat across from him looking rather glum indeed. His gray eyes were clouded, blonde-white eyebrows pulled together in a frown of what looked like concern.  
  
Harry and Hermione were in the main carriage at the front of the train being given their Head Boy and Girl duties. Leaving Malfoy, and himself, to fend for themselves for a while. He had vaguely wondered if the Head duties were at all similar to Prefect-ing. He and the Slytherin had opted out of going to the Prefect meeting this year, as they had been to the two previously they knew it would be just the same thing over again, and anyway, Harry and Hermione could give them their duties at any time, they didn't really need to go.  
  
"No offense, Malfoy, but I can't see as how losing Crabbe and Goyle is, in any way, detrimental to-" he paused, "Ok, I take back the 'no offense' part."  
  
Malfoy glared at him, folding his arms and hooking one leg over the other in what looked like a forced casual gesture. "For your information, Weasley, they actually happen to be two of the only 'nice' - and please understand I am talking about Slytherin, the term is relative - nice people in the entire house."  
  
There was a second's pause, "They also happen to be my friends."  
  
Being what he was, and having a couple of other talents he had been told not to tell Harry or Hermione about yet, Ron heard the 'only' that fit into that statement all too clearly. Malfoy had deliberately omitted that little bit of information, and it was now ringing through his senses as if he had been standing under one of the bells in the Notre Dame, just as it was struck. He raised his eyebrows slightly, forcing himself not to probe further, nor indeed to even comment.  
  
The two of them sat in silence for a while, Ron taking note of the way Malfoy's eyes kept darting to the compartment door, obviously hoping Harry would return soon. Eventually, as Ron turned the page of one of his new divinatory books, Malfoy muttered something to himself and rummaged through his trunk, pulling out a sketchbook and what looked like ordinary muggle pencils.  
  
Ron marveled. He hadn't had any kind of inkling that Malfoy was an artist. This was a completely unanticipated level to the blonde Slytherin. He watched as the shorter boy sat back down again, with his back to the window and used his thighs as a rest. He turned another page, after a few minutes of skim reading it with half an eye on Malfoy, and then looked up, curiosity reaching its peak.  
  
He closed his book, "I didn't know you could draw."  
  
Malfoy looked at him, then shrugged and turned back to the pad, "Not many people do."  
  
There were a few more minutes of silence as Ron watched him interestedly. "What are you drawing?" Malfoy's gray eyes flicked in his direction again before he replied, "I'm just doodling, really. Nothing special." Ron leaned forward a little, "May I see?"  
  
Again the gray eyes fixed on him for a moment and then Malfoy tucked his pencil behind his ear and handed the pad over. Ron took it carefully and looked at what Malfoy had just called 'doodles.' His eyes widened slightly in surprise. Young Master Malfoy was a bloody good artist.  
  
The page was covered in small sketches. One or two of which were studies of himself from when he was flicking through the divinatory book. Another was a small, but rather detailed, portrait of Harry, apparently drawn completely from memory. Looking closely, he saw that a few of the smaller sketches were dragons and lions, a hippogriff, a unicorn and even what appeared to be a mermaid.  
  
Just holding the sketch pad, which appeared to be about half full now, he got the feeling of a dedicated artist, someone who was meticulous over who and what they drew and how the images looked. The knowledge was pouring through the pad into his hands and he realised Malfoy was every bit as devoted to this type of work as Harry was to Quidditch or Hermione was to her education, and the longer he held the book, the more certain he became that Malfoy was like this about everything he did, be it his education, his appearance or his relationships.  
  
He blinked and handed the sketch pad back, "Those are really good," he said quietly, not really sure how to express himself while he could still feel the Slytherin's personality and dedication flowing through his senses. Malfoy shrugged again, exuding nonchalance from every pore and slipped the pad back onto his thighs, the pencil from behind his ear, getting back to 'doodling.'  
  
After a small, not entirely comfortable pause, Ron pulled out his Divination book again and started catching up on Tarot and Rune reading, the two subjects for the coming year that he was most looking forward too. He'd already spent the past week practicing and had prepared his own Runes for the course, something he suspected he was supposed to do in the first week of term. At least he'd have a head start and he had enjoyed the process. Keeping his Tarot deck from the twins had been some trouble though, like keeping his I-Ching from them last year had been.  
  
He absently squeezed the small bag that contained the home-made runes hanging on a thong round his neck as he read, going over the complicated meanings of the Tarot cards and Runes, trying to filter out what he had picked up from holding Malfoy's sketch pad. He focused on what the book was telling him; there were seventy-eight separate cards in the Tarot deck, as well as twenty-five Runes. All the information he had just received was making the learning and memorizing of the meaning of each one much harder work than was ordinarily necessary.  
  
He kept at it, ignoring Malfoy and being ignored in return, listening to the light scratching from his sketching, until Hermione and Harry returned, both looking a little preoccupied. Hermione slid the compartment door closed behind her as Harry sat down near Malfoy's feet. Ron's smile of welcome faded when he looked up and saw the small frown puckering Hermione's normally gentle features. "What's wrong with you two?" he asked, glancing between the two of them as Hermione leaned back on the door and Harry shifted closer to Malfoy who had now moved his feet and was looking as confused as Ron felt.  
  
Harry folded his arms and sighed, leaning back into the comfortably stuffed carriage chair. "It's nothing really, but after all that extra activity over the summer, we've been given extra duties, besides what the letters told us about."  
  
Hermione finally sat down, getting comfortable beside him and tucked her hands between her knees, the worried expression still on her face, "As well as all the usual stuff, we've occasionally got to patrol at night. We've also got to take some extra DADA lessons, to protect ourselves and defend the younger students. If it comes to that."  
  
Harry smiled mirthlessly, a strange gleam in his eyes and Ron got the feeling he was keeping something from them, as he often did these days. It wasn't such an unusual feeling, as Harry was no stranger to secret keeping, but Ron and Hermione both knew he had been keeping a lot more from them since Sirius' death. Hermione often said it was 'hardly surprising, under the circumstances,' but Ron found himself wondering whether there was something more, under the surface, and he often had to fight the urge to have a look.  
  
He watched Harry for a while, as the raven-haired boy got comfortable with Malfoy, flicking through his course books, contemplating that mirthless smile and nonchalant countenance.  
  
* * * *  
  
Harry folded into the chair next to the window and looked out at the dark landscape passing by. Draco and Ron were out performing their prefect duties and Hermione had disappeared in the direction of her house sisters to catch up. He and Hermione were, of course, expected to help with the controlling of their fellow students, but it wasn't mandatory, so after a while they had both decided to take a break and had gone their separate ways.  
  
Now, with little more than an hour to go before he reached the safety of the one place he thought of as home, (though, over the past few years, he had been harboring darker feelings towards the place,) Harry found himself getting nervous, and thusly, he was brooding. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and pulled off his glasses, absently cleaning them with the corner of his robe as his mind wondered.  
  
His thoughts flicked back to the conversation he and Draco had had after finding the Daily Prophet article the day after his birthday. At the time, Draco had proclaimed his absolute disdain for the thoughts of the rest of the Hogwarts student body. He had said, or at least implied, that their new- found friendship was too important.  
  
Harry wondered, though, whether Draco had really thought it through, whether the young man who was so used to the adoration of his housemates and the indifference of the rest of the students, really knew what he was getting into. Obviously, the true nature of their relationship had to be kept between the four of them, but even merely declaring friendship with 'The Boy Who Lived' was going to be enough to turn half the Slytherin's on him as well as the eyes of everyone else.  
  
Harry himself was acutely aware of the changing moods and fickle nature of the Hogwarts students when it came to such things, so he knew precisely what to expect. Curiosity from most, anger and incredulity from some, outright hatred from a few. There would eventually be acceptance from those who either knew one or both of them and those who simply didn't care. Though he increasingly found fewer and fewer numbers of those who didn't care about his personal life, and even fewer who didn't treat it as some kind of commodity.  
  
He sighed and slipped his glasses back on, turning again to look out of the window, not really caring that all he could see now was his reflection.  
  
Lost in thought, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the glass, barely noticing the cold feel of it against his skin, the tiny prickle it caused in his scar. He hoped to high whatever that he and Draco could pull through the first month back at school, as that first four week period would be the most trying of the year. He knew from experience that things tended to calm down rather significantly after about that length of time. Beyond that, they should hopefully be able to get on with things.  
  
Another sigh escaped him as he thought of being unable to let the world know how happy he was, as the world wouldn't understand. Of course, he wouldn't have told the world at large anyway, even if he had been with a female Ravenclaw, or even a fellow Gryffindor for that matter, it was just far too risky. Lovers could be taken and used as leverage, whoever they were. Anything was possible in his life, in the reality he lived in everyday, which was why hiding the true nature of their feelings had been their only choice.  
  
His decision had been helped by that fact that he still harbored a little fear of what would happen if he came out. After living so long with the Dursley's, he had come to expect nothing more than outright rejection, humiliation, even disgust, from anyone he told. The only reason he had eventually told Ron and Hermione had been because Dean had insisted, ensuring him that his two best friends wouldn't 'care which way he swung,' if they truly were the people he knew them to be.  
  
He turned away from the window, gripping the arm rest so tightly his knuckles were white. He was suddenly furious at himself, at his life and what it meant. Of course, he had long since come to terms with his so called 'destiny,' but it still hurt to think of the amount of danger simply knowing him placed people in. The danger his lover was placed in was only a few steps up from the danger even his friends and acquaintances had to live with. But then, even they could be used against him, and he knew Voldemort knew this, knew that the Dark Lord almost understood his nature and sought to undermine him at every turn.  
  
A few times since Dumbledore had revealed to him the truth of his destiny, the prophecy that had led to it all, the truth of what he had to do, he had contemplated cutting himself off from the world, from everyone he loved, everyone he knew. But, each time, he had talked himself off the proverbial precipice, reminding himself that it was the very people he was putting in danger, the ties to the 'real world' he was supposed to be protecting, that kept him sane and gave him the strength to do what he must. They gave him the strength to go on day by day, to keep him alive.  
  
It was these ties that gave him real people to defend, to protect, save, these ties that gave him something to concentrate on beyond the nameless crowds that Dumbledore always spoke of, the nameless crowds he could neither see nor care for. These ties gave him something to aim for; they were the people he thought of to make himself get through the day.  
  
He relaxed his grip and leaned his head back on the head rest, once again closing his eyes. He needed to stop thinking about such things, within little more than forty-five minutes he'd be getting off the train and into the Thestral drawn carriages. At that thought he wondered whether Draco could see the creatures now and thusly, whether or not he had witnessed death since fifth year.  
  
That question derailed him for a moment and his thoughts scattered.  
  
There was a sound at the door and the object of his thoughts stepped into the compartment, closing it behind him. Draco looked a little wearied, but his now rarely bright eyes lit up when he saw him.  
  
Harry smiled warmly and Draco took the seat next to him, almost slumping as he laid his fair head on the proffered shoulder. "You look like I feel," Harry commented quietly, catching one of Draco's hands in his own. He got only a 'harrumphing' sound in reply and smiled to himself.  
  
"Since when have the lower years been such ruffians? I don't remember being like that." Draco murmured, to Harry's amusement completely discounting his own memories of their constant skirmishes when they were younger.  
  
Yes, here was a reason to go on. The young man curled up so comfortably against his shoulder embodied maybe the last thing he had needed to keep himself going. His friends and housemates gave him the ties to keep him sane; this new, just born, relationship with Draco gave him a real object to set his sights on. The friendships were just those, friendships, and after a few years he may not even have them anymore. He knew school buddies tended to drift apart. But this, this was real and solid, he could almost touch it.  
  
His friendships got him through the day; this would get him through the rest of his life, if he let it.  
  
His hand tightened slightly on Draco's as the blonde drifted into sleep, and he smiled, watching the pale lashes as they dusted even paler cheeks. Maybe he'd ask him about the Thestrals tomorrow.  
  
* * * *  
  
Draco parted with Harry and the others just outside the Great Hall, completely ignoring the looks from many of the students around them as they went in to sit down. He and Harry didn't so much as briefly touch hands as they went their separate ways, and barely glanced at each other as they sat down in their usual seats right at the end of their respective tables, closest to the doors.  
  
Sitting where he was, Draco had the unearthly feeling that it was right, that he sat here now simply because within less than nine months, he would be leaving this place as a man and pass on into society.  
  
His eyes fell on the Gryffindor opposite him across the hall and they shared a small smile as students continued to swarm in through the doors. Already the four long tables were nearly full, which meant this year's first years were going to have to squash up with the older students. Hopefully there wouldn't be quite so many as there had been last year. In his sixth year, the students had all watched as around a hundred new first years came in, all looking small and scared and the tables had been overflowing by the end of the Sorting.  
  
He rested his elbows on the table before him and steepled his fingers, looking around the hall interestedly. It was then that he became aware of the stares and discontented whispering that could be heard throughout the hall. He blinked and realised most of the stares were directed at Harry and himself. Glancing over again he saw that the dark haired Gryffindor was undergoing some sort of interrogation by his fellow seventh year dorm mates.  
  
A heavy body settled itself next to him and he was interrupted from his silent observation. He looked over and was met with the silent stares of those of his housemates that used to adore him and the gruff expression on Millicent Bulstrode's wide face. Blaise and Pansy sat themselves delicately opposite him, effectively obscuring his view of the Gryffindor table. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be found, still, and his eyes roved over the table searching out the rest of his year mates.  
  
Adrian Nott could be seen a couple of spaces away on Millicent's left, completely ignoring him, and the obnoxious Rhianon Boyle was sitting with her sixth year boyfriend about halfway down the table. He turned back to his obviously annoyed housemates and gave them his best smile, raising his eyebrows questioningly as he did so.  
  
He had been very careful on the train before they got here to make sure he looked as usual as possible, simply for this meeting alone. His hair was slicked back into its usual sleek style, his robes were a cut above most at the school and he had made sure to wear the stylish trousers and shirt underneath. He looked, for the first time in a few weeks, exactly as the young son of a Death Eater should; dangerous and untouchable.  
  
It was Blaise who leaned forward, a frown marring her normally pretty features. The clamoring of the students around them hid her words as Millicent looked warily around, making sure they wouldn't be overheard, "He's not very happy with you, Draco."  
  
Of course, he knew exactly whom she was talking about, and that little statement could probably earn the award for understatement of the year, if he knew anything at all about the Dark Lords temper.  
  
"Isn't that nice," he responded dryly, "Do you think I should send him a card to apologize? Maybe a lovely bunch of flowers would do the trick." He inspected his nails, pretending to ignore them, knowing for a fact that his would only piss the two girls off even more than they were already.  
  
Blaise looked ready to burst as she brushed a lock of short, deep red hair behind her ear, "You can't be serious!" a pause, "He's prepared to take you back, to forget about this summer, if you deliver Potter's head to him." Pansy broke in before Blaise could continue, leaning forward slightly, her long auburn-blonde hair falling over her shoulders, "It can't be anything more than a ruse? Surely! It's preposterous to think that you, of all people, would defect to the Light!"  
  
He raised both his eyebrows at the girls. He touched his voice with the old drawl as he said, "Of course not. Groveling at His feet and having nothing but seconds for the rest of my days, is exactly what I aspire to in life." Both girls sat straight, looking affronted and he continued, folding his arms on the tabletop as he spoke, "I will not give Him Harry, and I will not return to Him. You can run off to your parents and tell them to give Him this message, 'Not for all the money in Gringotts. You lost your chance the year my father was taken from me.' He'll understand."  
  
The three Slytherins looked at him uncomprehendingly. He unfolded one arm and waved his fingers at them, as you would a naughty child, "Now run along, I rather like my space these days and I'm sure it wouldn't Do to be seen with me."  
  
All three girls looked murderous at being treated in such a way, but they did get up, "You won't hear the last of this, Draco" Millicent rumbled as she turned away and they all moved further down the table. "I'm sure I shan't" he muttered to himself as he watched them leave.  
  
Well, he supposed he'd better get used to this. He was with Harry now, even if no-one actually knew that, thinking them as having forged a truce or something, he had to expect threats and attempts at coercion from his housemates. It was probably going to be like this for the rest of the year, if not attempts at getting him back, then there were undoubtedly going to be attempts on his life. He knew his housemates well too well to expect anything less.  
  
He glanced round the room again. The conversation had taken no more than a couple of minutes and the hall was still noisy with students trying to find their places as well as those who were a little late getting off the train or carriages. He saw Harry was still deep in conversation with his fellow Gryffindors. For a moment he watched them, wondering what they were asking him and half understanding what he must be going through.  
  
Two more figures obscured his vision and he looked up, surprised. Crabbe and Goyle! He stayed where he was, half expecting them to react to him as the three girls had, but the two of them smiled a little and sat across from him, again blocking his view of the Gryffindor table and Harry.  
  
"Where have you two been?" he asked in an undertone, noting the wary looks in their eyes and the way they drew slightly closer together under the stares from some of the other Slytherins.  
  
Gregory shrugged and Vincent leaned forward slightly, "We'll tell you about it later."  
  
He lowered his eyebrows, confused, but nodded. Apparently he'd have to wait until they were back in the common room before he found out why they hadn't been on the train and why the other Slytherin's were eyeing them up just as much as they did him.  
  
His thought process stopped as the doors at the back of the hall opened and Hagrid took his seat at the staff table. A moment later, Professor McGonagall entered the room, trailed by way more students than these tables could comfortably hold. He sighed and shook his head.  
  
* * * *  
  
Harry, sitting in his usual seat closest to the door, shared a small smile with Draco. The blonde looked a little put out, uncomfortable. Before this summer, he wouldn't have noticed, but he now knew the Slytherin's face and body language as well as his own and those steepled fingers were meant to keep people away, they were a barrier for him to hide behind.  
  
Before he could reflect any further, Seamus, Dean and Neville caught his attention. They had forced their way further up the table and were now sitting as close to him as they could get, which meant Seamus had plonked himself between him and Ron, and Dean and Neville were sitting opposite him, obscuring his view of the Slytherin table.  
  
"Hey, Seamus! What the hell are you doing?" Ron exclaimed as the burly blonde Irishman nearly knocked him into Hermione's lap - though Harry rather thought his lanky friend didn't really mind too much.  
  
"Just squeezin' in to have a talk wi' Harry," and with that he and the other two Gryffindor seventh year boys turned to him and gave him a very long look. He blinked. Even Neville, who had admittedly gained some confidence and lost quite a bit of weight over the past few years, was looking at him as if he had grown a second head.  
  
He looked at Dean and realised HIS look was a little less 'second head' and a little more knowing. Well, he supposed he could understand that, compared to Seamus and Neville, Dean knew a lot more about him. A lot more indeed. He mentally chalked that up as a contender for understatement of the year and then gave in, "What?" he said quietly, looking at each of them in turn as Ron and Hermione peered past Seamus to see what was going on.  
  
This was exactly why he had avoided his dorm mates on the train, because he had known they would gang up on him like this and demand to know all. He hadn't been up to it then, and he definitely wasn't up to it now. He had hoped he'd be able to put it off until they had reached the common room or even until tomorrow when he'd had a good long night's sleep and a chance to sort out his answers. But, no, they had decided to pounce him during dinner, before even the Sorting. Somehow, this was ultimately unfair, but not exactly unexpected.  
  
Seamus grinned at him, "What? You mean you can't figure it out?" Neville piped up, stammering ever so slightly; that was another thing that had changed about Neville over the past few years, he didn't stammer these days unless he was particularly emotional about something, "Y-you and Malfoy!"  
  
Seamus nudged him slightly too hard in the ribs, "Like Neville said, 'you and Malfoy!' What the hell's goin' on there? Just last year you two were throwin' insults at each other!"  
  
"Actually, they weren't," Dean's voice cut in almost somberly, "they were ignoring each other last year, it was fifth year they were throwing insults."  
  
It was actually Dean, and his more quiet nature, that had calmed Seamus down over the years, though it wasn't really noticeable at the moment. The welcoming manner of the dark skinned youth had that effect on almost anyone who spent time with him, it was one of the reasons Harry had fallen for him last year and the time they had spent together, even if it had been in secret, had been some of the most peaceful and loving of his life.  
  
Though it hadn't lasted, Harry and Dean were still close and he supposed that may very well have been why he was looking at him with a certain amount of understanding. The muggle born had probably figured out his true relationship with Draco already.  
  
Seamus waved Dean's comment off with one hand and a grin, "Tell all! Harry Potter makin' friends wit' the son a You Know Who's right hand man! Gotta be some story in there!" Ron snorted from Seamus' right hand side and they all looked at him. The red-head raised his eyebrows and shrugged.  
  
After a short pause, Seamus grinned at him again, "Come on, stop hidin' it! We wanna know."  
  
Harry sighed, eyeing the rest of the table. Some of the other Gryffindor's were looking at him, though most were getting on with the normal pre- Sorting conversations. He gave them a very abridged version of the events over summer, not mentioning the fact that he and Draco were a lot more involved than people thought, nor what Uncle Vernon had done to him. He didn't mention what the two Death Eaters had wanted to do to Draco, nor what the blonde Slytherin had told him about the summer after fifth year, and he only glossed over the two fights he had had with Voldemort's henchmen and Colin Henderson's death.  
  
"So - Malfoy's really a good guy?" Seamus asked a little incredulously. Again Ron snorted, but Hermione shushed him and Harry nodded. Neville looked a little scandalized and very unbelieving. The only person who seemed to have taken it as told and truly believed him was Dean. The handsome, dark skinned, young man gave him an understanding smile, making him think back to fifth year, the first night back at Hogwarts when he had argued with Seamus. Dean had simply stated 'My parents are muggles....I'm not stupid enough to tell them....' and had rolled over, leaving it at that. The next morning he had told Harry not to worry about it.  
  
Seamus continued to question him about Draco until the doors at the back of the room opened and Hagrid took his seat at the staff table, signaling the arrival of the new students. A moment later Professor McGonagall stepped in, followed by a mass of scared looking first years. He looked at them all and wondered quite whether he had ever been that small.  
  
The mass of about sixty children queued up in front of the staff table, ready for the sorting, all looking incredibly scared indeed as McGonagall set out the stool and placed the ragged looking Sorting hat upon it. Harry smiled, knowing exactly what was coming next.  
  
There was a collective intake of breath and an expectant pause as the hat took a moment to consider. A second later the hat began it's song and all those students who had expected it and had been waiting let out the expectant breath. Harry smiled to himself and listened.  
  
A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:  
  
Hogwarts students, listen well!  
  
Listen as I speak  
  
Of the fate awaiting all  
  
Of those who are too weak!  
  
Within the year, there will be war,  
  
But not as we would know it,  
  
Every year, I quarter these masses, four,  
  
As the ancient Founders saw fit.  
  
But as I make this song, my rhyme,  
  
The Dark oppressor's sat,  
  
Quietly biding all his time,  
  
Waiting until his plans are met.  
  
Already all my simple warnings,  
  
You have not taken heed,  
  
For children there are now mourning,  
  
And there was no need!  
  
Two years ago, I sang a song,  
  
That warned of deadly foes,  
  
Now I sing another one,  
  
But this time I warn of those  
  
Within our very heart of hearts,  
  
Plotting to undermine the two,  
  
Who have already taken part  
  
In bringing together the students, whom  
  
I must too soon break asunder.  
  
Students, please, take my lyrics  
  
And within your separate houses, ponder,  
  
Try to find the complex  
  
Answer that will solve the question,  
  
Of the divided fours resolve.  
  
Since I have given you the lesson,  
  
And must return to my duties of old,  
  
Here are the Houses, Counted down!  
  
Brand new first years, listen hard,  
  
Wear a smile, not a frown!  
  
As you put me upon your head,  
  
I will sort you, girl and boy,  
  
For that was good old  
  
Godric's ploy.  
  
If you happen to be brave and bold,  
  
Into Gryffindor, that's where you belong!  
  
Now, if intelligent and savvy,  
  
To Ravenclaw before long!  
  
If ambitious and rather canny,  
  
To Slytherin, I think it best!  
  
All those hardworking and gregarious  
  
In Hufflepuff, your hearts will rest!  
  
I think you'll find that's all of us,  
  
So using the power I hold within,  
  
Let the sorting now begin!  
  
Harry's eyebrows raised as the whole room paused. For a few infinitesimally long seconds no-one moved, and then everyone clapped. This was just like fifth year's song, only with a more direct and obvious message. He wondered what the Sorting Hat had noticed while residing in Dumbledore's tower and for a moment tried to figure out if it was on about Draco and himself.  
  
It was then that he actually looked at the Staff Table and promptly forgot about the Sorting Hat's song. His eyebrows rose and he leaned back, reaching behind Seamus, who looked a little confused, and poked Ron. Ron looked at him with a mixture of confusion and mild irritation at being interrupted mid chat with Hermione, "What?" he mouthed silently.  
  
Harry nodded toward the table and grinned. Ron turned, as did Hermione who had been watching them both and the two of them jumped slightly in surprise, turning back to him with identical jubilant grins. He nodded and the three of them turned back to watch McGonagall who had pulled out her long list of names.  
  
Remus Lupin was sitting in the usual seat for Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors, right next to Severus Snape who didn't look particularly pleased, though that did tend to be his default expression. It appeared that in these troubled times, Dumbledore had talked the board of governors into letting him re-hire their favorite teacher. This years advanced DADA lessons were going to be a lot more interesting than last years.  
  
He glanced back at the last remaining (he didn't think of Wormtail as anything other than a traitor and certainly didn't consider him in the same league as his father, godfather and favorite adult besides Dumbledore) Marauder and smiled. He looked a little better than the last time he had seen him, almost a year ago. He wasn't as thin and his robes were less shabby, he also appeared to have had a haircut. The older man caught his eye and smiled. Harry gave a short wave and the two of them returned to the Sorting.  
  
He clapped along with the rest of the school as each of the new first years was sorted, clapping loudest, of course, for the new Gryffindors, as was tradition, and then looked expectantly at the dishes on the table, though he knew of course that Dumbledore would make a small speech to welcome the new students before they could eat.  
  
Dumbledore stood and clasped his hands before him, "Welcome, welcome, new and old!" he waved his right hand vaguely at the room, apparently absentmindedly also taking in Lupin as well as the new students in the gesture, "I'll need to have your attention after the meal, now, please enjoy!"  
  
He sat down again and the tables were suddenly overloaded with all different sorts of food. Harry pulled a few of his more favorite meal items towards himself and put a tolerable amount on his plate. He wasn't as hungry as he usually was during the opening feast, probably due to his apprehension of the coming week and Seamus' constant questioning, which he had actually started up again.  
  
Harry ate slowly and answered what questions he could and then pulled his favorite pudding to himself, cutting off a slice of the treacle tart before pouring a little custard over it. At that moment an owl landed on the table in front of him. He jumped and stared, as did half the students nearest him.  
  
"Uh, hello." He patted the owl on the head, offering it a sausage and took the scroll it had tied to its leg. It was highly unusual for an owl to arrive at the table during the first meal of the year, and for some reason he had a strange sense of foreboding. The owl took off again, carrying the gift of sausage with it as he opened the scroll. Dumbledore's by now very familiar handwriting met his eyes.  
  
'Harry,  
I would like to speak with you before you leave for your chambers. After the meal, please come to my office, the password is 'Everlasting Gobstopper.'  
  
Professor Dumbledore.'  
  
Harry blinked at the short note and then looked at his Headmaster. The old man was watching him and when he looked up the old man raised his goblet, eyes twinkling reassuringly. He didn't see the other owl take flight from the Slytherin table.  
  
* * * *  
  
Draco read the note he had received from Dumbledore and watched as a second owl took flight from the Gryffindor table. Obviously Harry had received the same instructions, '....please come to my office....' He wrinkled his nose ever so slightly, knowing full well what the Headmaster was going to want to talk to them about.  
  
He folded the parchment and put it in the pocket of his robes before returning to his sparse meal. He hadn't felt much like eating, which wasn't entirely strange as he rarely ate that much anyway. When the chatter and eating finally ceased he looked up, with the rest of the student body, waiting patiently for Dumbledore to start his yearly speech.  
  
Dumbledore rose to his feet and clasped his hands before him once again, the new students all started in surprise as the uneaten food and dirty plates vanished. "As is usual I would like to warn newcomers that the Forbidden Forest just off Hogwarts Grounds is off limits, and, just as usual, I would like certain older students to remember that." Draco wondered if he meant Harry and his small group of trouble-making friends every time Dumbledore said that.  
  
"Once again, our caretaker, Mr Filch, would like me to direct all students to his revised list of forbidden objects, currently attached to his office door, as well as reminding everyone that spell's are not allowed to be cast within the hallways."  
  
Draco hid a smile, remembering the countless times that had happened over the past six years. "Now, to business. This year we are glad to welcome back Professor Lupin who has agreed to once again take on the position of Defense Against the Dark Art's Professor."  
  
There was much applause, mainly from the Gryffindor table, where there were also a few wolf-whistles, though Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff clapped heartily, almost making up for the lack of praise from Slytherin. Lupin, who had his elbows on the table, hands clasped before his mouth, nodded his head with a genial smile. Draco noted that he looked a lot healthier than the last time he had seen him, which had been third year, and his robes were a lot less shabby.  
  
Dumbledore waited politely for the noise to settle down and then continued, with a much more somber air, "During these most dark of times, I would like students to keep in mind that though our dear Hogwarts is still safe, I would like for you all to be on your guard. Our Head Boy and Girl, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger respectively, will be around for your assistance if you require it, as will our Prefects, though to a lesser extent. Professor Lupin will be teaching all students the basic protection spells as an extra precaution during his Defense lessons."  
  
Of course. Even though the long awaited War had not yet begun, the world was still unsafe and obviously Dumbledore wished Hogwarts students to at least be able to protect themselves when they left, either during the holidays and Hogsmeade trips, or at the end of the year, to be ready when the war finally broke, which everybody expected to happen this year.  
  
Dumbledore's grave air dissipated and he smiled at the students, eyes twinkling as he did so, "Now! Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will begin during the second week of term, so if anyone feels they wish to take part, be ready, though it is not open to those below second year. First years, the Prefects of your House will show you the way and inform you of the passwords. Now! Off you trot!" And he dismissed the school with a wave of his hand.  
  
There was instantly a clamoring as students rose chatting and laughing, the new first years seeking out their respective Prefects. For a moment he sat and told Greg and Vincent that he would be back late, then he stood, ignoring the looks he was receiving from his fellow Slytherins and caught Harry's eye. The taller boy's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded and they both headed for the door.  
  
"You got a note as well?" The Gryffindor asked him as the headed for the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Draco nodded, "I can just imagine what he wants to talk about." Harry nodded glumly and they walked in silence to the statue that hid the revolving staircase to the Headmaster's office and quarters.  
  
Harry gave the password and the statue moved to the side. They both stepped onto the staircase, the statue moving back into place behind them. Almost without thinking about it, as soon as the statue hid them once more, Draco sought out Harry's hand and clasped it firmly, simply wanting the contact. The dark haired boy smiled at him, gripping back as they rode the stairway, letting go only when they reached the door at the top.  
  
Somehow, Dumbledore was already in his office when they knocked.  
  
"Come in, come in," his voice rang jovially.  
  
Draco opened the door and Harry followed him in. Dumbledore was standing to one side of his desk, feeding the most gorgeous Phoenix he had ever seen. The old man smiled at them both and gestured towards the two chairs before his desk. Harry sat at once and Draco was slightly surprised when he asked, "How's Fawkes, Sir?"  
  
Dumbledore gave the last tid-bit to the resplendent bird and moved to sit down, "Oh, he's doing well, as you can see. He's about halfway through his cycle now. Sherbet Lemon? Draco?"  
  
Draco tore his eyes from the bird, which was now preening itself, and looked at the small packet Dumbledore was holding out to him. He blinked, noticed Harry was already unwrapping one and reached into the bag, "Thank- you, Sir."  
  
He sat back and looked around, he had never actually been in this office before and all the contraptions on the shelves, as well as the paintings of former head-teachers were fascinating. He supposed 'Fawkes' must be the Phoenix that was now ruffling its feathers a little. His attention returned to Dumbledore as the man leaned forward slightly, his elbows and forearms on the ancient desk.  
  
"Now, you both probably know why you are here. After the events over the summer, there can be no doubt as to Voldemort's intentions when it concerns the two of you." He paused, gave them both a penetrating look and changed the subject, his voice changing to a gentler tone, "I noticed the way in which your housemates reacted. Were there any problems you may wish to address?"  
  
Harry shook his head, "They just asked me to explain." Draco took a moment to think, obviously Harry trusted this man beyond anything, it should be ok to tell him. "Voldemort say's he will take me back if I give him Harry." He managed, finally, to unstick his fingers from the sweet Dumbledore had given him and continued, not looking at either of them, "I told them to tell him where to shove it."  
  
He heard Harry stifle a laugh and looked up, meeting his Headmasters eyes. Dumbledore looked both amused and concerned at once. "Well, since you both appear to be fine, let's get on. Concerning events over the summer, I wish to explain a few things."  
  
Harry interrupted him, "Sir, before you do, could I ask something?"  
  
Draco noticed the slight look of shock on Dumbledore's face, but the man consented with a smile. Harry's next question surprised him; it had actually been one he was thinking about himself. "How did the Sorting Hat know?"  
  
Dumbledore sat back, his hands, though still on the table, clasping together tightly. "Ah. Of course you would notice, though I'm sure few others did." Draco found himself the object of a rather knowing look, he nodded, of course he'd noticed it as well, how could he not? "Yes, the Sorting Hat has a few properties of which even I cannot tell."  
  
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, "The song the Hat sang this evening was a surprise to me, normally I hear the final version before it performs, but for some reason the Hat composed a new one, replacing what I had previously heard with this rather undisguised warning."  
  
Well, that was interesting. Dumbledore always heard the song before the rest of the school? Draco had thought that the songs where kept entirely secret until the debut at the Feast. "I suppose this means you're going to tell us to watch our backs?" he said quietly, without a trace of his usual sarcasm.  
  
Dumbledore and Harry both looked at him, "I think that would be advisable, yes, but I know well how you both respond to such things, so I would not insult your intelligence."  
  
Draco folded his arms with a slight frown and Dumbledore turned to Harry, "I'm afraid I cannot truly answer your question. Just take the warning to heart. And now," he looked at them both, "This summer."  
  
His voice was uncharacteristically quiet when he spoke again. "I'm afraid I am at fault for all that happened. The real Mr Henderson was one of my men. He was a Squib, placed in work at your Uncle's business to keep an eye on him and to make sure nothing happened to him." Dumbledore suddenly looked weary, "Some weeks ago it appears he was.... taken, by Voldemort's men. No one noticed, not until it was too late. As you know, Mr Zabini used a very powerful glamour and took his place, thus enabling him to....fix certain eventualities and learn of your whereabouts, Harry."  
  
Draco frowned; both surprised and annoyed at once, "Zabini set Harry up? He made sure he would be in Bath?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded, "The competition the Dursley's believe they won was fixed, assuring that the family would be in Bath at the right time, and they made doubly sure you would be there, Harry, by having 'Colin' ask to meet you."  
  
"I should have known from the start, the only time my Aunt and Uncle ever win anything is when someone makes sure they do! I can't believe I was so stupid as to be taken in by that." Harry looked highly annoyed, he was sitting straight in his chair, green eyes blazing with a fire Draco rarely saw.  
  
Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, that is why we began to suspect something, despite 'Colin's' assurances to the contrary. We knew where you were going, so we placed someone to watch you."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Nymphadora Tonks, of course. She swapped places with Mr Shire and kept an eye on you from there. This is, perhaps, why Arcadia was attacked." Dumbledore sighed and Harry looked flabbergasted, Draco just sat back, watching them both and feeling a little like a third wheel. That was until Dumbledore looked at him, "You, my boy, though, you threw all their plans into utter confusion. I thank you for what you did for Harry and myself during those two weeks."  
  
"I didn't do much, Sir." What was Dumbledore on about? All he'd done was look after the Gryffindor after that first attack, anyone could have done that. "You did more than you think, young man." He had the distinct feeling, at that moment, that Professor Dumbledore could see through him and read his very thoughts. It was a chilling idea and he felt a gentle shiver run through his body as he tried to figure out just exactly what it was Dumbledore thought he had done.  
  
There was a thoughtful pause in which Dumbledore looked at them both, Harry still looked angry, but he appeared to be calming down. Eventually their Headmaster spoke again, looking directly at him rather than Harry, "I'm certain your friends, Gregory and Vincent, will tell you the reason's in their own time, but I would ask that you be understanding. This summer they followed in your stead and have spent the past few weeks living here."  
  
Draco was stunned. He blinked and was about to ask why when Dumbledore abruptly changed the subject, "Now, boys, I'm sure you are both tired after your long journey." He stood and waited for them to follow suit. After a moment they did, in silence and moved toward the door. As he took hold of the door handle Draco saw Harry turn, "Thank-you, Sir." He looked back and wasn't surprised to see that the old man was standing behind his desk watching them both with a faint look of concern in his eyes.  
  
When they reached the hallway again, it was absolutely silent and dark save for the flickering torches at regular intervals. Not speaking, they made their way back to the entrance hall, occasionally their shoulders brushed, but other than that there was no outward sign of what lay hidden.  
  
The hall looked cavernous at night, lit only by moonlight that streamed through the high windows, at the top of the staircase that led down to the dungeons they stopped and turned to each other. Harry smiled warmly, "Double Potions first thing tomorrow. Hermione and I got out timetables early." Draco paused, looking the raven-haired boy straight in the eyes, "Harry...." he started, but the Gryffindor just shook his head, "I know. It's a lot to take in right now, we should just sleep on it, talk about it all tomorrow."  
  
Draco dropped his eyes to the floor for a second then glanced around them. "I suppose. See you in Potions then," he smiled slightly and raised a hand to Harry's cheek, gently running his finger-tips over the evening shadow that was starting to make itself known. Before anything else could be said, he leaned forward and kissed him.  
  
They broke apart a long moment later, their breathing a little hitched and looked at each other, the silver rings in Harry's eyes were gleaming. He had to move now, or he'd never get away. "Night then," he whispered, turned and made his way down the staircase to his common room. When he looked back up, Harry was already gone, leaving him feeling a little - he didn't know what, but he eventually settled on the word lonely.  
  
The common room was as dark and silent as the rest of the school; it was lit only by the slowly dieing fire at one end of the room as, down here, there were no windows to let the light in. Closing the portrait behind him, he clearly saw Crabbe and Goyle sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, talking quietly between themselves and obviously waiting for him. Rubbing his arms because of the slight chill that was always in the air in the dungeons, he made his way over to them.  
  
"Any chance my room's warmer than here?" He asked, dropping into an armchair close to the fire, offering them a little more privacy for this conversation. As a Prefect, he had of course been given the option of either staying in the dorm or having his own room. Being who he was, he'd opted for a single room. It wasn't as nice as he'd heard the Head Boy and Girl rooms were, but it was certainly better than sharing a room with three adolescents who thought snoring was an Olympic sport.  
  
The single room had also given him a few opportunities over the past year or so. There were only two, no, make that four now, other boys in his year, which he knew of, who preferred to 'keep it in the club,' as it were. There had been three or four in the year above him, and he never went below his own age. Boot had certainly enjoyed his single room; there were a few good memories from that short lived relationship, even if he was a Ravenclaw. The others had simply been conquests, to see whether he could do it, amongst other things that he tried not to think about.  
  
Of course, it had been easy, they all seemed to like his pale looks and Seeker toned body. There were only two he hadn't touched, Justin Finch- Fletchly, a muggle born and one boy from the year above him who had reminded him too much of - cold, clammy hands....  
  
It had all changed now of course. Now he had Harry and there was something between them that made him realise he wanted to stay, to give up the conquests, that he didn't need them anymore, they had simply been a way of chasing off the feel of cold clammy fingers on his wrists and hungry red eyes that spoke of things he never wanted to know about.  
  
He banished those thoughts from his mind as his two friends looked at him, "You sure, Draco?" Crabbe asked. He had always been the more cautious of the two, constantly questioning, always looking for the catch in any situation, making sure they had all the possibilities covered and the information they needed. Though neither of them were academically inclined, he often thought of Vincent Crabbe as the more intelligent, they were both brilliant in their own ways of course. He nodded and stood, "Of course. It'll certainly be better than this place."  
  
They got up and trailed him down one of the winding corridors that opened from the other end of the common room, his own room was quite a distance, just as he liked it, but it was further into the dungeons, further under the castle and there was very little light. As they reached the door, Goyle stepped in front of him and motioned for him to stay where he was. He frowned slightly, confused, as Greg pointed his wand at the door-knob, checking it and then opened it himself.  
  
Nothing happened, but the more burly and magnanimous of the two made him stay where he was and went into the room first. Again, there was nothing, but he could feel the Dark Magic that surged from the room. Some of it he recognized as his own protection and guarding spells, but there was a hint of something new, something familiar.  
  
"What?" he muttered, trying to move forwards. Vincent held him firmly by the arm and he stopped, "That's Blaise's magic in there," he said angrily. Vince nodded, "Yeah. We saw her come down here earlier."  
  
Gregory reappeared at the doorway, there was a new feel to the air, the heaviness that Blaise's magic had left was gone, "It's safe now," he said in his quiet rumble, "They were just detection spells and stuff."  
  
Draco stormed into his room and looked around, both visually and magically, "How the hell did she get past my protections?" he almost shouted as Vince closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes and did a thorough search. The wards he had left in place at the end of last year were still there, as were the simple spells that made sure people didn't notice what was in here. But he could feel, now that he was looking properly, that, magically speaking, the spells had 'frayed around the edges' due to lack of use and much needed renewal, and that was how she had managed to do what she had done. "Shit," he muttered, opening his eyes and looking at his two oldest friends.  
  
"Thanks. I probably wouldn't have noticed." They both nodded and sat on the old sofa that stood in the corner of his room, close to the large fire that he had asked the House Elves to keep blazing all year round. He dropped to the floor in front of it, legs crossed under him, wrists resting on his knees and looked up at them. "So, Dumbledore said something about you spending the past few weeks here?"  
  
* * * *  
  
August 1st.  
  
'Potter and Malfoy spotted together in Black Rose nightclub.'  
  
'Last night, after the despicable happenings in Bath Abbey earlier in the day, full story on page 2, people were unready for a second shock. It was given in the form of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, being seen with the son of Lucius Malfoy, a convicted Death Eater.  
  
'The two boys were spotted together late in the evening in The Black Rose, a popular haunting ground for many of our sons and daughters in the Avon Wiltshire area. The nightclub itself is a respectable establishment, and on any ordinary occasion we should not be surprised to see the young Mister Potter within its walls.  
  
'The fact that many witnesses reported seeing Potter and Malfoy at the club, enjoying both its music and each others' company beggars the question; have Potter and Malfoy put aside the animosity of previous years?  
  
'For it is well known that the two boys have not been friends, either because of the deep rooted enmity between their respective houses or because of the feelings held on the elder Malfoys part, it is not known, but last nights activities appear to prove that the two boys are no longer on disagreeable terms.  
  
'They even bought each other drinks, and at one point I saw them dancing. It was weird,' says local apprentice book keeper, Lawrence Arkwright. Madam Presley, of Thickwood, Colerne, agrees, 'They both looked pretty relaxed around each other, as if they were great friends and didn't care who saw them.'  
  
'Young Potter has often surprised the magical world over the years. Memorable instances being the disclosure of his ability to speak Parseltongue, his participation in the Tri Wizard Tournament, his acquittal at a full Ministry court when he used magic, underage, to defend himself and his cousin from an attack by two Dementors and his involvement in the capture of Lucius Malfoy and other Death Eaters during the attack on Ministry headquarters two years ago.  
  
'So, should we be at all surprised by this sudden turn of events? Harry Potter is a remarkable young man after all, so is it at all surprising that he should want to try and stop any ill will between himself and another young man, simply because said teen's father chose the Dark?  
  
'"Potter lived a lonely life until he began his schooling at Hogwarts. He had a surprisingly harsh time, while living with his muggle relatives, for someone so well known, and this seems to have given him the desire to create friendships wherever he goes," says renowned psychiatrist, Dr Sharon Nollette, "This desire becomes more apparent when we bring to light his continued encounters with He Who Must Not Be Named. As a result, Harry shows an inclination to bring as many people as he can to the Light. This may be the reason for his recent attachment to Draco Malfoy."  
  
'It is obviously apparent that Harry, after years of hostility between the two of them, has grown tired of it and taken steps to bring the younger Malfoy out of the shadow of his father's actions. To all concerned, this must be a joyous event, as another young wizard, on the brink of The Dark has been saved and will continue to live in the Light, helping in the fight against The Dark Lord.'  
  
Vincent Crabbe put the paper down, leaving it open upon his lap, and sat back. With one eyebrow raised, something he had learned from Draco, he looked out of the window to his right, checking to see if Hell had frozen over. It hadn't, so he scanned the article again.  
  
After a while, he closed the paper and looked at the photograph on the front page. It was definitely Draco, and he definitely had his arm round what were definitely Harry Potter's shoulders. They also definitely looked drunk and completely oblivious to the fact that the photograph had even been taken. The two monochromatic figures were stumbling and leaning heavily upon one another.  
  
He supposed he could attribute this, well, severely out of character behavior, to Draco's being drunk. But he doubted it. He had seen Draco drunk a few times, and his mind worked just as well then as it did during any other time, evidenced by the fact that he had argued with Firenze while drunk last year and the old Centaur had conceded a few points to him. It had been unnerving to say the least, as he and Goyle hadn't even had the slightest idea what the two of them had been talking about in the first place.  
  
Well, it appeared Draco had finally made his mind up about what to do now he had the choice. He was forsaking The Dark Lord to join Potter and the other Dumbledorians. It wasn't such a bad idea, especially after what Draco had told them Voldemort had planned for him. Especially considering neither of them was at all comfortable with the 'muggle-less future' Voldemort envisioned them all leading. A future where Pure Bloods would rule all and muggle-borns and muggles would be like the lowly House Elf, or worse.  
  
A future where Lord Voldemort would probably have them all kissing his bloody 'I'm the master of everything' boots.  
  
He should talk to Gregory.  
  
* * * *  
  
August 2nd.  
  
'Greg,  
  
'Did you read the Daily Prophet today? If you didn't, it had a piece about Draco and Potter, they're friends now. It's not very surprising; I've been waiting for it to happen since that summer. It just took longer than we thought it would.  
  
'Anyway, after reading the article I thought we needed to talk, I think Draco's got the right idea. I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life killing people just because of how they were born. It just feels a little bit, what was the word Draco always uses? Hypocritical. And I don't want to be killing anyone, anyway.  
  
'Father mentioned Voldemort wants to 'initiate' us soon, he sounds proud and very happy when he talks about it. I think we need to talk, soon. Can you get to an open Floo line tomorrow, around midday? My parents are out and I'll have the house to myself then.  
Vince.'  
  
Gregory Goyle folded the parchment back up again and put it in his pocket. He looked around, making sure no-one was around and then closed his bedroom door. He was just checking, as the house was empty, apparently his parents were off at the same place as Vince's' were. Which meant they were probably all at a Death Eater get together.  
  
He locked the door with a simple locking spell, to be doubly sure he wouldn't be interrupted without warning and then crossed to the fire. It was blazing merrily, just as he'd asked the House Elve's to make it. He and Vince didn't have much to worry about communicating this way, as every member of Voldemort's Inner Circle had private, unfathomable personal Floo lines as well as the usual ones.  
  
He folded his burly form onto the floor in front of the fire and waited.  
  
He didn't have long to wait as Vince always kept himself punctual. Within five minutes the fire turned green and Vince's head appeared, wearing a slightly furtive expression, which was a strange sight to say the least; normally Vince had a good measure of control when it came to his emotions. That was something they had both learned from Draco, and it had turned out to be a very helpful talent over the past few years, as showing certain emotions or tendencies around the parents they had been lumped with, was a sure fire way to a rather painful existence.  
  
"Hey Vince. Don't worry, my parents are out too." The furtive look lessened slightly, and Vince nodded, "Good. You checked your room?" He nodded, of course he had, he wasn't that stupid. It was one of the necessities of life these days, making sure no one was eves dropping on him.  
  
He nodded again, "We're safe. I got a copy of the paper by the way, had Hell's work making sure Dad didn't find out about it. I agree, Draco's got the right idea of it." Vince nodded again, "If we don't do something soon, we're going to end up eating out of The Dark Lords hands within the year. That or we'll be dead, at any rate."  
  
He knew the same thought was now going through his best friend's mind, if they were killed, or forced into the Death Eaters, who would look after Draco? Sure, neither of them was that good at school, and they always needed the blondes extra help to get spells right, but the two of them had been watching his back since they were seven. Ten years of doing that, of being there for him when he felt particularly put upon, or more recently when he had had arguments with his parents, when he had undergone that terrible night with Voldemort last year - well, it had left them with a certain feeling of protectiveness towards him.  
  
It was strange, but they had known nearly all the Slytherin's in their year since they were children, but he was the only one they trusted, wanted to protect. There was something about him, about the way he treated them, which was different to the others. He never looked down his nose at them in the way the rest did, he spoke to them like equals and was unfailingly perceptive of the amount of help they did or did not want when it came to their studies, giving it without question when they asked.  
  
Draco may have been the appointed leader of Slytherin, with simpering fan- girls and boys at every corner, he may be the antithesis to the Gryffindor students and he may be the son of Voldemorts right hand man, but to them he was a dear friend, someone they trusted implicitly and would do anything for.  
  
There was silence for a moment, then Gregory looked out the window. For a second he said nothing, hardly noticing the confused look on Vince's face. When he turned back to the fire his eyes held hope, "We should owl Dumbledore."  
  
* * * *  
  
August 3rd.  
  
Their parents had taken them both to the Parkinson mansion.  
  
It was not somewhere they currently wanted to be. They had sent an owl off to Dumbledore the day before, after spending almost an hour writing it together, consulting each other through the Floo network. In the end Vincent had sent it from his end, as his home was a little further North than Gregory's.  
  
They had expressed both their intent to join the Light, and their worries over the fact that their parents intended to initiate them soon, they hadn't realised, though, that it was to be tonight. So they were both incredibly anxious.  
  
And Pansy kept looking at them.  
  
Ordinarily Pansy ignored them, which was a state of affairs they had both been perfectly happy with, as she was the resident slut of Slytherin and not someone either wanted to associate themselves with. It was highly unnerving, then, that she kept pausing mid conversation with Blaise to look at them.  
  
Eventually she and the red-head got up and moved over. Vincent watched them warily and paused, his hand still an inch or so above the checkers piece. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Gregory turn to look at them as well. He turned his eyes back to the board and managed to take two of Gregory's pieces before the girls reached them and sat down.  
  
"Are you nervous, Crabbe?" Pansy asked in the sickeningly sweet tone of voice she seemed to think of as seductive. He turned his eyes on her, she was sitting next to him, one long leg hooked over the other, her side split, pale lilac robes hitched up slightly to show more thigh than was really decent.  
  
He looked quickly at Greg and chuckled lightly in that practiced manner that sounded real, even to those who knew him well, "Nope."  
  
One of Pansy's fingers trailed over his thigh, her long nails leaving an annoying tingle where they had touched through his thin summer clothing and he looked at her again. She smiled slowly, "Not even a little bit?" she purred, "I know a great way of calming those niggling little anxieties."  
  
Blaise giggled lightly from her seat next to Greg and he looked over. His friend was trying, a little more obviously than he should have been, to edge away from her. His eyes moved back to the girl whose hand was now resting rather openly on his knee. He supposed any normal red-blooded teenage boy would have loved this situation, but seeing as he really couldn't stand the girl, and in a few hours time he was going to meet the scariest person on the planet, he found, without any hint of surprise whatsoever, that he really wasn't in the mood.  
  
He picked up her hand and placed it delicately on her own knee, "I'm sure you do," he muttered. 'She must be the horniest person on the entire bloody planet,' he mused to himself, 'if she actually considered doing that, today of all days.' It wasn't as if he and Greg were the only two meeting Him for the first time today. Though he supposed it probably helped that the two girls weren't going to the meeting harboring thoughts of joining Dumbledore.  
  
She gave him a pouty look and sat still for a moment, then placed her head on his shoulder demurely. "It's an open offer, Vince darling. I was just hoping to calm you down, you look so tense."  
  
He did not look tense and he knew that for a fact. He had learned many years ago how to properly control his body, as had Gregory, so what she had just said was some sort of 'diversionary tactic' as Draco called it. What was she really up to?  
  
He looked up in time to notice Blaise move round behind Greg and start rubbing his shoulders. His friend's eyes closed for a moment and when they opened again Vince noticed he was giving him an apologetic look. Gregory never had been any good at turning a girl down.  
  
He felt an arm snake round his shoulders and Pansy whispered in his ear, "Well, I'm nervous. I could do with some calming...." He blinked, maybe this was all just about sex. It was Pansy, after all, and she was rather an uncomplicated person. He blinked again as her other hand trailed over his inner thigh and slowly moved to places that were beginning to betray him.  
  
There was a nock on the door and it opened to show a nervous looking House Elf. The hand sneaking to places he'd rather not think about, moved back slightly and came to rest on his thigh again, "What do you want?"  
  
The House Elf looked even more nervous at its mistresses tone of voice, "Please, Miss Pansy, there is someone wishing to speak to Master Crabbe and Master Goyle." Pansy pulled back entirely and stood up, but the House Elf squeaked even more nervously, "Alone, please."  
  
Pansy looked murderous but he and Greg stood, Gregory taking a moment to extricate himself from Blaise's wandering hands. They apologized to the girls and closed the door behind them. "Who is it?" he asked the scuttling little figure as they followed it down the corridor to the large library.  
  
"He did not say, Masters." They entered the Library and the Elf disappeared, closing the door firmly as they made their way to the fire. Snape! They both stopped dead and just stared. What the hell could he want? Was he going to tell them what Voldemort had planned for them tonight?  
  
The Slytherin House Master glared at them for a moment and then barked, "Well, come here!" They both jerked forward and moved closer to the fire, obviously expecting the worst, not what Snape next said to them.  
  
"Dumbledore received your letter. I take it you are following in Draco's footsteps?"  
  
Stunned, Vincent just nodded and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Greg do the same.  
  
"It was not entirely unexpected, we had actually prepared something for just such an eventuality. As you undoubtedly know, there will be a Death Eater meeting this evening to which you both are expected to attend, as well as Parkinson and Zabini. I will be there. When I give you the signal, you will recognize it when I give it, use these."  
  
Snape's long fingered, sallow hand snaked out of the fire and dropped two small objects on the deep rug in front of them. As his hand vanished back into the fire again the two boys bent down and picked up one each. They were rather lifelike models of themselves. Vincent looked back at Snape, "How do we use them?"  
  
Snape appeared to smile slightly, as if grateful that he had asked the question, "They are voice activated Portkey's. Simply grip them tightly and say, however quietly, they will still work if you whisper it below normal hearing levels, 'Hogwarts' and they will take you there."  
  
Vincent nodded and looked at Gregory who did the same, they turned their eye's back to Snape, "What about our stuff?"  
  
Snape gave them both a long look, "I will take care of you 'stuff' later tonight. Now, I do not expect trouble, but if anything goes wrong and I am unable to give you the signal, you must use your own initiative to figure out when to leave. Hopefully, I will be able to make sure you can leave before The Dark Lord even has a chance to see you."  
  
He paused for a moment giving them both a penetrating glare, "Be sure to watch yourselves and what you say if you are brought before him. It is very likely he will be in a bad mood this evening." There was a sudden pause and Snape looked to his right, he looked startled, which pretty much meant his eyes narrowed, and he looked back at them again, "I must leave. Be careful tonight, and let no-one see the Portkeys."  
  
A second later the Potions Master disappeared and the fire returned to its usual colour. Vincent looked over at Gregory and hefted the small figurine, "Well...." Greg nodded and they both put the Portkeys into their pockets before turning to the door and making their way back to the room where they had left the girls.  
  
Blaise and Pansy had returned to their little corner at the other side of the room and barely glanced at them when they came back in again. They moved nonchalantly to the small table they had been sitting at before and resumed their game of Checkers. They spent the next few hours repeating the game to pass the time, ignoring the girls and talking to one another in an undertone about what may happen at the meeting.  
  
It had come as a complete surprise to the both of them that Snape was a spy for Dumbledore, at school he always seemed such a, well, such a Death Eater and Draco certainly hadn't mentioned it. Maybe he didn't know? Or had been told not to tell anyone? Whatever the case, at least they now had a means of escaping.  
  
Vincent found himself gripping the small model tightly at one point and had to remind himself where he was, hastily letting go and paying attention to the game once more.  
  
He and Gregory had absolutely no idea what to say to Voldemort tonight if they ended up face to face with him. They were pretty much relying on Snape to make sure it didn't happen. When the time came and their fathers arrived, Vincent found he was almost shaking with nerves. He took a desperate hold of his body, calming himself down and stuffed his hands into his pockets, taking a firm grip of the small Portkey.  
  
All four of them were taken to the Library and handed deep black robes and the plain masks of the Death Eater. He pulled the robe on, feeling apprehensive and more than a little thankful that these things were made for hiding whoever wore them and placed the mask over his face. When he looked at Greg and the girls, the only one he recognized was his friend, and then simply because he was the taller, the two girls looked identical.  
  
They wrapped themselves in over-large cloaks and stood waiting. A few minutes later their fathers reappeared, this time in their robes, but without their masks. They said nothing as they led the four teenagers outside. Vincent stared, again thankful for the mask, when he saw the Death Eaters. There were more people there than he had expected, and he couldn't see Snape anywhere. But then, it was impossible to tell who was who in these masks, maybe he was there somewhere, standing back so as not to be noticed?  
  
They were led to the gazebo at the end of the garden and told to sit and wait by Blaise's father. He sat quietly next to Gregory and watched as his father, and theirs, made their way hastily to the large circle. He dug his hands back into his pockets and affected a slumped, nonchalant pose, trying to pass off as bored rather than apprehensive as he again gripped the Portkey.  
  
He looked over at the circle. There was still no signal from Snape and it was looking increasingly unlikely that there would be one before they were brought before The Dark Lord. There was some sort of commotion and Voldemort shouted something. He blinked, Voldemort sounded very angry indeed and he was sure he had heard Snape's name mentioned.  
  
He turned to Gregory and saw that he had heard it as well. It looked like they were going to be in trouble. If he had heard right, it appeared Snape wasn't even here. They were going to have to fend for themselves.  
  
He glanced once at the girls, they were both watching the circle, and after a moment he turned back to it as well. There were a few minutes of quiet, it appeared Voldemort was talking to the Death Eaters, and then the figure he knew was Blaise's father and the one standing next to him, moved forward and dropped to their knees, ducking their heads.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, for he daren't look at her, he could see Blaise's eyes behind her mask. They were shining with fear for her father. Pansy's hand appeared on her shoulder as the figure of Zabini flinched at whatever it was The Dark Lord had said to him.  
  
A moment later, the two men got up and returned to the circle, their every movement spoke of relief, but also of fear. There was a pause, and then his and Gregory's father stepped backwards, side by side, out of the circle and made their way towards them. He stood up, feeling Gregory following suit, and waited.  
  
"Come, Vincent," he heard his father say gruffly from a few feet away. He nodded and stepped down, not looking at the two girls who he knew where watching him with sympathy in their eyes. A second later, Gregory was ordered to follow him. He knew that within a few minutes, the two girls would lose all sympathy for him and Greg, knew they would turn on them just as he knew they had Draco. His hands, still in his pockets, clenched tightly and the small Portkey dug painfully into his palm.  
  
He focused on the smart of pain as he entered the circle, Gregory at his side, their fathers directly behind them, and focused all the more as they were pushed to their knees. He looked up at the person his father worshipped and fought back the recoil of fear as he met the blood-red eyes with their cat-like pupils. No amount of Draco's training could hide the fear he felt. It overwhelmed him and pushed back the rational part of his mind, leaving the single thought, 'I don't want to be here, I don't want to be a part of this.'  
  
The voice, when it came, was higher pitched than he had thought it would be and only made the figure before him seem more terrifying as it whispered a single question. "Will you join my ranks?"  
  
He shook slightly, his eyes left the red ones above him and found Gregory's. Without realizing his own actions were being mirrored by his friend, he looked at the ring of Death Eaters, taking in the encompassing robes and pale masks that hid the identities of those who served Voldemort. He came to a decision. Be it on his own head that he say this, but he couldn't think of anything else, his mind drew a complete blank.  
  
At exactly the same moment as Gregory, he stuttered, "N - no."  
  
There was a pregnant pause as they waited for Voldemorts response. He realised, with a jolt deep in his chest, that the Death Eaters were all holding their breath and that their fathers had both taken a step back.  
  
Eventually that high voice interrupted his silent world of inner terror with a simple whisper, "No?"  
  
For some reason, he had expected more. He opened his eyes and looked up. The jolt of fear that ran through his body this time almost made him gasp. Those eyes! Voldemort's eyes were almost glowing with rage.  
  
Again, that whispered question, "No?"  
  
He blinked and quite without meaning too, shook his head. There was a sudden muttering amongst the Death Eaters ringing them and he felt, rather than heard, his and Gregory's fathers step further away and rejoin the circle, abandoning them. He quailed when Voldemort next spoke, and felt Gregory do the same next to him.  
  
"Three. Three!" Voldemort took a step forward and he tried to move further away, falling to his rear as he did so, feeling Gregory stumble to hands and knees to his right. He looked up into those eyes again and wished he hadn't. Voldemort leaned down and in one movement grabbed him by the collar of his robes and lifted him. It was no mean feat, he was of rather a heavy build. He blanched behind his mask as the inhuman creature brought him up to eye level, his feet dangling uselessly, hands scrabbling against the clammy skin of the wrist at his throat as its owner snarled into his face, "I am going to enjoy this."  
  
He felt a wand jab into his ribs and new what was coming a second before the curse was whispered. "Crucio!"  
  
His every sense was pummeled with a pain he thought would kill him and he screamed, hands tensing on Voldemorts wrist as he did so, his nails digging into the soft, corpse-like flesh. He was dropped to the ground, but barely felt it, barely knew anything as the pain swept through him. As he heard the curse whispered again he realised Gregory had been caught as well, but soon, even this thought disintegrated as a fresh wave of pain enveloped him.  
  
He had never felt anything like this. This was, he didn't have a word for it, but whatever it was, he tried to fight it. He curled up, clenched fists tucking against his stomach, trying to force back the bile that had risen in his throat. There was a new wave a second later as he again heard the curse muttered above him and even thoughts of fighting what was happening to him fled from his tortured mind.  
  
He didn't know how long it lasted, but eventually the pain began to subside and he opened his eyes, drawing a ragged breath. The first thing he saw was Voldemort. He tried to recoil but then realised the man was standing a few feet away, two figures knelt before him, their left arms held out, underarms pointed towards the sky.  
  
He lifted his head slightly and looked about, trying to find Greg. There were pin points of light shooting before his eyes as he moved, but he had to find him, had to make sure he was ok. There were feminine screams of pain, but he ignored them, he could see Greg lying only a few feet away, eyes open and looking at him.  
  
It had to be now, they had to leave now, before Voldemort finished Marking Blaise and Pansy, before his attention returned to them. He blinked, trying to clear his head, and nodded slightly. Greg nodded in acknowledgement, and he closed his eyes, dropping his head back to the ground again, tiredly. He carefully moved his right hand down to his pocket and gripped the Portkey tightly.  
  
Any moment now he would be gone from here, he would be safe once again. Screwing his eyes shut and hoping fervently that Snape's Portkeys would work; he whispered the name 'Hogwarts.'  
  
There was a yell from the ring of Death Eaters surrounding them, but he ignored it as he felt the familiar tug behind his navel, felt what he knew to be his salvation. He daren't open his eyes, he just lay there, hoping Greg had managed to get away as well and let the feel of rushing air wash over him.  
  
When he felt solid ground beneath him once more he didn't move. He let go of the small figurine in his pocket and stayed as he was, hoping that it had done its job, because he couldn't move even if he wanted to. There was a soft sound and he knew Greg had made it. Slowly, his senses began to come back to him and he heard urgent footsteps heading this way. A second later a door thumped open and there was an intake of breath.  
  
He opened his eyes as long fingered, not ungentle hands turned him over onto his back. Snape. He was in the entrance hall of Hogwarts. He was safe. He smiled, not hearing a single word of what his Head of House was saying and his vision blurred into darkness.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything."  
  
Muhammad Ali.  
  
* * * *  
  
Useless trivia: 'Everlasting Gobstoppers' are from 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' by R. Dahl, you know the guy, he wrote all those kids books? Yah.  
  
Sorry this has taken so long guys ^^ I've been bloody busy, what with university and trips back and forth to the doctors. I'm making a start on chapter three, but don't hold your breath, it'll probably take as long as this one did. I hope you all enjoyed it though! ^^  
  
Hannah  
  
Malfoysnogger: Heh thanks ^^; Hopefully this chapter'll read the same way ^^; though it all takes place in one day rather than following a couple of weeks. Like reading a book? Wow, never got that response before ^^; I had so much fun writing Harry's rescue of Draco, I'm glad you enjoyed it so much. Things about Narcissa will be exlained etc, but much later on in the fic ^^ Not so much lovey-dovey-ness in this chapter, but there is more to come, I have a couple of scenes already written down that will hopefully make people go 'awwwww' and as you can tell, they have more than just Herm and Ron ^^  
  
Brenna8: Thanks ^^ Hope you enjoyed it  
  
Jen/Suiko: I'm glad it cheered you up so much! I hope this one satisfies just as much ^^ We're going to get a lot more of Hermione and Ron in future chapters too ^^ I hope you're weeks have been better since that last one  
  
Slytherinekid07: LOL I used a word that had to be looked up? Maybe I should put a warning ^^ I do have a bit of a wide vocabulary oo; Glad you enjoyed the chapter so much  
  
Readmeadow: I hope this chapter sorted out any of those problems you had with the relationship being kept secret ^^ And considering Harry would have pretty much the same reaction if Ron or Hermione were kidnapped and threatened with what Draco was threatened with, I think it works - or at least I hope it does. Anyway, it's part of the plot ^^ and thanks for the comments! ^^  
  
Mashpotatobunny: LOL sorry I took so long to update, maybe you wont get bored in your next class now? I try my best not to make things too fluffy, but it just kinda happens occasionally!  
  
Angel74: YAY! I got a fan! ^^ What I was actually insinuating was the fact that Voldemort WANTED to, well, force himself on Draco. But it didn't happen. Draco could tell what ol' Voldie wanted to do, but quailed and tried to stop it, so Voldie tortured him for turning him down. It does all happen in Divide, but maybe I didn't write it clearly enough?  
  
Becky Moon: Sorry it took so long, but here you go ^^  
  
Solo D. Maxwell-Yuy: (hugged) thanks! ^^ you printed the LOT out? God! Not even I'VE done that ^^ Though I do intend too..  
  
Curlytop: Thankyou ^^ I hope you enjoyed the chapter ^^ 


	4. Chapter 03

Any and all recognizable characters, names and places are copyright J.K. Rowling. I'm making no profit whatsoever and sincerely hope she doesn't find my writing too offensive. All other characters, names and places, as well as the story itself, are copyright me, and if you nick them, I will set Angust, my pet angst sprite on you.  
  
I advise discretion to those under sixteen in the reading of this chapter, it is slash and this means that at some point there is a bit of 'boy love' going on. I don't write such scenes particularly vividly, but I do write them, and there is one in this chapter. You are warned.  
  
Do enjoy this latest installment of Conquer, from this chapter onwards; things are going to get tough for our favorite boys.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Chapter Three  
  
As Head Boy, Harry had been patrolling the dormitories with Hermione, trying to get the students to shut up and go to sleep, so he hadn't had a chance to visit Professor Snape and replenish his now nonexistent store of Dreamless Sleep Draught. He had taken the potion every night for the last few months of sixth year, while he was still at Hogwarts. It had been the only way for him to get a full night's sleep since December.  
  
Not that he couldn't actually sleep. He was almost always knackered these days, so sleep came to him easily enough, it was what happened after sleep came that forced his use of the potion, regularly made up for him by the Potions Master.  
  
Since events last December, the raven-haired Gryffindor had found it impossible to sleep on Hogwarts grounds without his subconscious throwing new terrors at him each night. Anywhere else and he was fine, his body seemed to realise he wasn't close to where it had happened. It was the aura of magic about the place, the same field of magic that surrounded anything from the wizarding world, which held the memories within it that his own magic picked up on subconsciously. Often, afterwards, Harry had found himself being shaken awake by Ron or Dean, his throat burning from the screaming and his body covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat, while a fearful Neville looked on. Seamus, of course, slept through anything.  
  
The only times it didn't happen were when he forgot his Occlumency. On those nights he would become immersed in Voldemort, living whatever the Dark Lord was doing at that time. Whenever that happened he vowed not to let himself forget again. Though he invariably did, much to his and Snape's disquiet.  
  
Normally the nightmares were very general, a mish-mash of fragmented memories and circumstances, real or imagined, but always with such a sense of terror and foreboding, of impending doom, that he always, without fail, woke screaming, unable to sleep afterwards. Occasionally though, they were more specific and he relived the most terrible moments of his short life. Always, once woken, he would lay, staring at the canopy above his bed and wait for the others to sleep again and then sit, alone and cold inside, in the common room, watching the dawn light chase away the darkness.  
  
He knew it all stemmed from that two day period last December, after all but a few students had left for the holidays, before Christmas day itself.  
  
Sylvia.  
  
He had failed, for the third time in as many years, to save someone he knew. In this case, a twelve year old Gryffindor muggle-born who had a crush on him. The smile on Voldemorts thin lips as he casually snapped her neck before disapparating haunted him still.  
  
He threw his robes over the back of the chair at his new desk. A moment later his t-shirt and jeans followed and he slipped into the unfamiliar bed, resigning himself to an early awakening. He wondered briefly how Draco was doing with his former comrades down in the dungeons.  
  
He sighed and resolutely began the task of emptying his mind of all thought and emotion, making himself comfortable in the process. He pulled the duvet up to his chin and closed his eyes; he was so practiced at this by now that he did it without consciously realizing and was very soon just a bubble of consciousness floating gently in a void.  
  
Soon, he dreamed.  
  
* * * *  
  
He was early for Double Potions.  
  
As he entered the room, still munching on a slice of toast he had nicked from the empty Great Hall as he passed, he looked around for Snape. The Potions Master wasn't anywhere in sight so he dropped his bag beside his table at the rear of the room and sat down, dropping his head into his hands with a very tired sigh.  
  
A moment later, head still in hands, chewing on the final bite of toast, he heard someone else come into the room. It was unusual considering he was very early himself and tended to be the only student up at this time. He didn't look up, though, until a bag was dropped next to the seat on his right.  
  
"Merlin's Beard, Harry, you look terrible."  
  
It was Draco. He smiled wearily as the blonde sat down next to him giving him an assessing look, fair brows pinched together slightly in a concerned frown. He tried to say 'good morning' but his voice came out in a croak, so he coughed and tried again.  
  
"Morning."  
  
Draco's brows rose slightly, questioningly, as he stood again and began to set out his equipment, "I hate to ask, but....?"  
  
Harry put his head in his hands again, "I ran out of Dreamless Sleep Draught and didn't get a chance to ask Snape for some more." He sighed and then jumped as a quiet voice said, "Is that so, Potter? Stop by after lessons tonight, then."  
  
They watched the Potions Master as he swept into the room, pausing briefly to look at them with eyebrows raised as he passed. When he reached his desk and did nothing more than rifle through the papers piled atop it, Draco turned back to him, "I don't remember you taking anything over the summer?"  
  
Harry nodded and stood, getting out his own equipment, "I'll tell you about it later." Draco simply nodded and they worked in comfortable silence, occasionally watching as Snape wrote the day's work on the blackboard. A few minutes before class was due to start Pansy Parkinson came in, not looking at them, followed a few moments later by Daphne Greengrass, Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchly.  
  
Now that the whole class was here, Snape began to take a little more interest. He greeted them rather gruffly and strode to the front of the room, casting the six of them a withering look. Harry mused over the fact that one Severus Snape always liked to give some sort of rehearsed opening lecture, normally to scare students into paying attention and making sure they were reminded of what to expect in his lessons.  
  
This tactic hadn't worked on Harry the first time he'd faced it and he knew it was a wasted effort now, so he switched off until Draco nudged him pointedly. Snape was just explaining what today's potion would be. He flicked his wand at the empty board and the neatly scrawled instructions he had written up earlier reappeared.  
  
"The Polyjuice Potion. This highly restricted concoction allows the imbiber to take on the appearance, down even to the very fingerprints, of whomever they have acquired a sample of. Hair is most commonly used. If you all actually studied this summer, you should understand the concept; the potion was in your reading." Snape glared around at the six of them, his dark eyes resting on Harry for a moment longer than was comfortable. Then he abruptly turned and gestured at the instructions, "The potion is to be started today and finished at a later date, to be revealed by lessons end. Get on with it."  
  
Harry grinned to himself when Snape turned, despite the headache that was beginning to make itself known behind his eyes and temples and set too. "What's so amusing?" Draco murmured halfway through slicing his knotgrass.  
  
"Just remembering the first time I saw Polyjuice."  
  
Draco paused, blinked, began cutting the knotgrass again and asked, "You've made Polyjuice before, then?" The surprise was evident in his voice, despite the low tone he was using to avoid detection by their austere Potions Master. Harry carefully sliced the leeches, adding them one by one to his cauldron before he answered, acutely aware that Draco could either be amused or offended by this particular piece of his history.  
  
"Hermione made it second year," he murmured as quietly as the blonde had, making sure Snape was out of ear shot, "We were under the mistaken belief that you knew who the Heir of Slytherin was."  
  
Draco's brows rose, "Christmas day, right?" Harry nodded slightly with a small smile. "So, it was you!" Though his voice was still low, Harry could hear the surprise and dawning realization, "You managed to dupe me right up until Crabbe and Goyle turned up. Minus their shoes and robes, of course." He was smirking now and evidently amused by Harry's admission.  
  
Draco paused mid slice and appeared to stare at the ceiling, "I would have loved to have found out who the Heir was, back then."  
  
"I'd noticed." Harry replied with another grin. "Couldn't give a shit now, of course," the blonde continued, and he could well believe that, they both knew very well who the Heir was, and neither or them had a particularly good track record with the man he had become. Harry frowned down at his Boomslang skin as he began shredding it, then Draco nudged him with a sharp elbow muttering, "I still can't believe Granger isn't at least in Ravenclaw."  
  
Sharing a knowing grin they worked the rest of the lesson in silence, Harry doing his best to ignore the now rather prominent headache, fighting not to rub his itchy eyes, especially as his fingers were covered in leech gore and traces of powdered Bicorn horn. When class began to draw to a close, Snape stood and stalked around the room, inspecting each potion in turn.  
  
He flinched slightly as Justin's potion was denounced with a particularly cold sneer. The Potions Master declared it absolutely atrocious and banished it with an impatient flick of his wand, ordering him to return after lessons today to remake it. Terry Boot's got the same treatment, but Daphne stood straight backed and jaw clenched as Snape glared into her cauldron and declared it to be acceptable. Then it was his turn.  
  
Snape swept over, narrowed his eyes at the slight smirk playing on Draco's lips and glared down into Harry's cauldron. One eyebrow arched in that all too familiar look of exasperated annoyance, a look he had cultivated since discovering Harry had indeed gained the marks required to take a place on his Advanced Course. Harry's consistent good marks and newly developing ability to thoroughly understand every nuance and complicated mixture of any potion he set had begun to annoy the Potions Master, despite their diplomatic truce.  
  
Eventually, after saying nothing, Snape moved to Draco's potion. Harry let out a silent breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding and glanced at the young man standing next to him. As expected, Draco's potion was as good as his own; Draco had always been good in this class, even without Snape's nepotism. Snape sniffed again, almost delicately, and stalked off toward Pansy who suddenly looked a little panicked.  
  
"What have we here, Parkinson?" Snape drawled rather acerbically. Harry and Draco both paused, recognizing the tone, and turned to watch the exchange. Normally Pansy wasn't too bad in this class, as despite her rather, well, fickle nature, she seemed to have a good head for the subject. Right at this particular moment even Terry and Justin, already slighted by Snape and muttering darkly together, (Harry would marvel at that some time later, a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw? Almost as unprecedented as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin!) had turned to watch this new development. "P-polyjuice, Sir?" Pansy seemed to quail under Snape's glare and she fiddled with her sleeves, absently rubbing her left arm as she blinked up at the improbably tall man. "Polyjuice? You call THIS, Polyjuice?"  
  
Harry tuned out the rest of the acid remarks in a carelessly practiced manner and concentrated instead on the way Pansy played so awkwardly with the sleeve of her left arm, noticing that she had opted for tighter fitting ones on her usual school robes this year. She kept pulling the cuff down and over the back of her hand, as if to make sure her wrists were covered entirely. He frowned slightly. It was a suspicious nervous gesture that she hadn't had before the summer.  
  
"Dark Mark," Draco murmured in his ear, so quietly as to be almost unheard. He turned to look at him, eyebrows lowered quizzically as he cleaned away his ingredients - they had to leave the potion itself, Snape was going to pour them into long time storage capsules after the lesson - carefully scrubbing the chopping board. Draco smirked slightly again, "I'll tell you later." Harry quirked one eyebrow and said nothing.  
  
Obviously fighting a laugh, which would have drawn Snape back to their table and probably landed them both in detention, Draco picked up his mortar and pestle, preparing to put the newly cleaned equipment back into his bag. Shaking his head slightly, Harry kept half an eye on him, half an eye on the squirming Pansy, which was why he only half caught what happened.  
  
Draco seemed to seize up slightly as he bent to grab his bag. With an almost inaudible cry of pain, he dropped the mortar and pestle, clutching at his wrist, not making any attempt to stop his expensive equipment from smashing on the solid stone floor.  
  
Harry almost went to hug the blonde, but at the last second forced himself to simply lay a hand on his shoulder, whispering urgently, "Draco? What's wrong?"  
  
The noise had attracted the attention of Snape and the other students, the former strode towards them, the latter simply stared. "What is going on here, mister Malfoy? Potter?" Draco straightened, almost, but not quite, shaking Harry's hand off his shoulder and looked his Head of House straight in the eye, "Nothing, Sir, just a little clumsy this morning."  
  
Snape continued to glare at them for a moment, and then swept off to the head of the room, flicking his wand at the blackboard which now held their assignment.  
  
A little shocked at the events, Harry nonetheless noticed that Draco was still clutching his wrist, and he knew the blonde well enough by now to be able to tell when he was in pain, the look in his pale eyes and the lines of his jaw hid nothing from him.  
  
* * * *  
  
"So, what was that all about?"  
  
They had about twenty minutes of break before their next classes and had arranged, previously, to meet up with Ron and Hermione in the library to pass the time. Draco guessed it was something the Gryffindor trio did often.  
  
"It was nothing, RSI, what were you on about, needing Dreamless Sleep?"  
  
Harry blinked at his quick change of subject, but seemed to shake it off as they headed, side by side, in the direction of the library. Draco raised one fair eyebrow as the dark-haired youth pulled an apple out of one of his robes pockets and began to munch on it before answering, almost offhandedly, "Last Christmas."  
  
Draco scowled slightly; he should have known really, that incident had left quite a few students with emotional scars, just as Cederic Diggory's death had after fourth year. In fact, his mother had forced him to send his father a letter detailing the events, telling him his father would like to hear about it all; that it would probably cheer him up. He suppressed a shudder at the memory.  
  
"I haven't been able to sleep properly on Hogwarts grounds since then." Harry took another bite, looking at the ground before their feet thoughtfully, "Something about the magical field here. Hermione could explain it better." Another bite, "Anyway, without the potion, I have nightmares, bloody horrible ones and that's saying something."  
  
He caught Harry's eye at that comment and frowned slightly. The Gryffindor only shrugged, saying, "I'm a bit of a connoisseur," with a smile.  
  
There were a few moments of silence as they negotiated the hoards of younger students fighting to get past. As they did, Draco noticed most of them gave Harry and himself strange looks; some calculating, some appraising, a few downright brutal. He was sure, at one point, that as they moved past one group of students, he heard his name. He looked over his shoulder but received only a blank stare from the one girl who appeared to be watching him.  
  
Well. This really was only to be expected, and why was he surprised? He'd heard students muttering his name in dark tones enough times over the years that he was quite used to it by now. It was just highly strange to have it happen now, after he'd turned his back on his father and the Dark, when, for once, he hadn't actually done anything untoward.  
  
He shook off the creeping feeling of the eyes on him and turned back to Harry, "I take it you don't sleep then?"  
  
They entered the library and looked around, catching the familiar glimpse of bright red hair off to their left, by the windows. As they set off, Harry muttered, "Once I'm awake, I can't get back to sleep again. Without the potion, I get roughly two hours. Hey, Ron," he finished in more normal tones.  
  
Draco dropped his bag on a chair, silently digesting this information as the red-head greeted them. "Where's Granger?" He asked after a moment, noticing her absence, it was unusual to find Ron without Hermione these days. Said youth's eyes narrowed slightly, "Her name is Hermione, and she's back in the stacks."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, blithely ignoring the look Harry gave him as he did so, instead, pulling out his time table and going over it. He hadn't actually looked at the thing since grabbing it absentmindedly off the breakfast table on his way past. He had known, thanks to Harry, that he had Double Potions first thing, so hadn't bothered looking at the rest of it 'til now.  
  
"Is it me, or do I have the rest of the day off?" In fact, upon closer perusal, he noticed he had quite a few free periods this year, and one full day free every first Friday. Harry pulled out his own time table and grinned, putting his feet up as he did, "Yup, so have I. Looks like you and Hermione have double Muggle Studies next, though." This last was directed at Ron who now had his nose stuck in said lessons set text.  
  
The red-head nodded distractedly, "I've got Divination after lunch, too."  
  
There was an unmistakable hint of excitement in Ron's voice as he said this, despite his entirely relaxed and distracted manner. It made Draco wonder, albeit briefly, why the taller boy didn't plan on furthering his education in that area and taking it up as a career. He supposed it may have had something to do with the war and Voldemorts constant appearances.  
  
"I suppose this gives us more time to get all our work done this year."  
  
"I'm glad someone plans on using his free periods productively," Hermione's voice, slightly muffled, drifted over to them. Ron's ears went pink and Harry smiled. The girl herself appeared a moment later, arms full of books - which she hastily dumped on the table forcing Harry to remove his feet in a rush lest they get crushed - and sat down between himself and Ron. She turned an appraising look on him while poking her boyfriend's knee and saying, "I hope you were paying attention."  
  
Ron only frowned and disappeared behind his book. Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry who grinned and repositioned his feet on the table as Hermione began rifling through her books. Draco shook his head with a smile and pulled out his Potion's Assignment.  
  
The 'five minutes left' bell went and Hermione re-gathered the books, stuffing them rather hastily into her shoulder book-bag as Ron stood, nose still in his own text. They were both gone, with hasty and distracted goodbyes, a few moments later. Draco turned to Harry, eyebrows raised quizzically, "What was with all the books?"  
  
The raven-haired youth shrugged, finished his apple and idly banished it with a careless flick of his wand that belied the power needed behind the spell, before saying, "The new books, brought in over the summer. She likes to read them before," here he put on a startlingly good impression of Hermione's sternest tone, "everyone else ruins them with dirty fingers and coffee stains."  
  
Draco smirked as Harry pulled out his own Potion's Assignment and the set book they had bought only a short while ago, but which he was sure the taller boy had already read cover to cover. Without removing his feet from the table, and apparently ignoring the sign on one of the closer stacks telling him he shouldn't have them there in the first place, the Gryffindor set about his essay.  
  
Shaking his head, Draco followed suit and was highly surprised when the lunch bell went two hours later. He hadn't realised quite how long they had been sitting there, over looked by Madame Pince and the various students trailing through, eyeing them as they passed. He was pretty sure he'd seen Blaise pass by at one point, but he hadn't been paying particular attention, he'd been enjoying quiet conversation with Harry, debating over the properties and misuses of Polyjuice.  
  
Before they began packing they measured their essays so far. Fifty-two inches really was enough to be going on with, but at least he nearly had that down already, and he couldn't help noticing that Harry didn't use over- sized handwriting anymore. In fact, it was almost as small as Hermione's.  
  
On their way down to lunch, dodging enthusiastic first years and curious or sarcastic older students, as well as the odd furtive glance or seething glare, Draco surreptitiously massaged his left wrist. It still ached from earlier and the long hours of essay writing for Snape hadn't helped. He thought back to what he'd told Harry. R.S.I? He had no idea where that had come from, it certainly wasn't something he had ever suffered from, though Merlin knew, many witches and wizards did.  
  
He remembered that he had actually been about to tell Harry that he had no idea what was wrong with him, but the connection between his brain and vocal chords had been temporarily overridden. He closed his eyes, briefly. It had been the exact same feeling that had taken him when he refused to go to The Burrow with Harry that last day together in Bath.  
  
He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and concentrated more on fighting his way through the swarms of migrating students. Maybe it was just R.S.I, after all, what with all the extra wand work over the summer; he should stop worrying about it.  
  
He parted with Harry at the door to the Great Hall, giving the taller boy a parting look full of a heat he really couldn't disguise and which made the Gryffindor grin sheepishly as he headed for his rowdy dorm mates. Still rubbing gingerly at his left wrist, Draco made his way to his own table and sat down between Crabbe and Goyle who both looked a little groggy, though he was sure he didn't understand why as they didn't have any lessons until Wednesday.  
  
"Not sleeping?" He asked pointedly. They both shook their heads. 'Scintillating conversationalists, indeed', he thought, remembering the term he had used to describe them to Harry over the summer with a smile.  
  
He didn't stay long. He had an exceptionally small appetite normally, but today he felt like eating even less. He ate what he could then stood up, apologizing to his two friends, ignoring the various glares directed at him from his fellow seventh years. He was pleasantly surprised when Crabbe and Goyle didn't follow him, this time last year, they would have. He slung his bag over his shoulder and, shooting Harry a quick smile as he left the hall, made his way down to his common room.  
  
When he entered his room he was a lot less pleasantly surprised to feel that his wards had been breached yet again. He closed the door and stood in the center of his room, concentrating. Make that breached twice. He frowned, eyebrows pinching together slightly. One was definitely Blaise again, but the other he couldn't place. He recognized it, of course, but couldn't place it.  
  
Opening his eyes, they fell automatically on the only thing in the room that was wrong. There was an envelope on his pillow. He blinked, surprised. What the - ?  
  
Dropping his bag he strode to his bedside and picked it up suspiciously. It wasn't particularly heavy, but the parchment was softer than the usual stuff found at Hogwarts. He blinked again, once again trying to figure out who the second intruder had been, and picked up a letter opener from his desk, slitting the parchment easily. He unfolded it and instantly recognized the handwriting.  
  
Harry.  
  
He smirked and shook his head. Of course he would recognize the power in here, he'd spent the summer with the boy, but he hadn't actually been present during any wand work, not the real stuff, so he wasn't attuned to his unique signature yet. Merlin, he must have written this while they were doing their Potions Assignment. But how, and where, had he learned such a powerful spell?  
  
'Draco,  
Come out of the common room, midnight. And try not to walk into me. Harry'  
  
He shook his head again. What the hell was the Gryffindor up to?  
  
* * * *  
  
"Harry?" He closed the portrait behind him and looked around. Ok, so this was weird. It wasn't the first time he'd snuck out of the common room at night and certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was the first time he'd pre-arranged it. Or at least, he realised with a smirk, had it pre-arranged for him.  
  
He stepped out into the hallway and suddenly felt a presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing. What was going on? Something touched his cheek and he almost yelped despite himself, jumping backwards slightly. It had felt like lips, but oddly muffled.  
  
"Oh, stop being such a Slytherin."  
  
Harry's voice. Harry's voice sounding amused. "Where the hell are you?" He asked quietly, getting his breathing back under control. He almost lost it again when Harry's grinning head appeared a few feet in front of him. He watched as the dark haired figure appeared, as if he had swung something off one of his shoulders. An invisibility cloak? Harry held one arm out a little, apparently inviting him under with him.  
  
"Where did you get this?" he asked as he slipped under the taller boys arm, moving close to his side. Harry dropped the cloak back over the both of them and shrugged slightly, "It was my fathers; Dumbledore returned it to me for Christmas, first year."  
  
What the hell were the Potters doing with a rare invisibility cloak?  
  
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, steadily getting closer until Harry appeared to give in and wrapped his left arm round Draco's waist. Draco smiled, enjoying the feel of his strong arm wrapped round him. "Where are we going anyway?" He kept his voice low, not really expecting an answer. He didn't get one, just an almost inaudible chuckle.  
  
They climbed an intolerable amount of staircases that he at first attempted to count, but soon lost himself. When they passed the Gryffindor portrait, Harry pointed it out with a small grin. Now at least he could understand why Longbottom had lost all that weight. He gave the large, pink, woman in the painting an appraising look before following Harry's tugging arm and turning the corner and going up yet more stairs.  
  
They eventually reached a door. Harry threw the cloak off them both and unlocked it with a careless Alohomora. One eyebrow raised quizzically, Draco stepped through and looked around. He shivered suddenly as a cold wind blew over him. He was only wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown and he was on the roof. It was cold. He wrapped his own arms around himself and listened to Harry closing the door behind them, "Harry, it's cold, what are we doing up here?"  
  
He heard Harry chuckle and then warm arms wrapped round him from behind. He turned his head slightly and met dark green eyes, he shivered slightly again and the arms tightened nicely. "Second thoughts, I don't care," he leaned back into the embrace comfortably, Harry chuckled again, then whispered "I just wanted to show you something." Draco's interest was perked, "What?"  
  
The taller youth moved round him slightly, one arm wrapped round his waist again and nodded off to their right, "Over here, you'll see."  
  
They made their way through the maze of chimney stacks and sloped edges to the far side of the roof. He wondered how Harry had discovered this place and when. A few scenarios passed through his head, one of which was a distressing image of the Gryffindor trying to find somewhere to jump from, though he hoped Harry had never reached that point. He gripped Harry's hand with his own and squeezed gently. Twinkling green eyes turned to him and he smiled, receiving a grin in return.  
  
Finally Harry came to a stop and said, "Here," before maneuvering behind him again, wrapping those long, warm arms around his waist once more. He glanced around, "What? I don't see anything."  
  
"Slytherins," he was sure he detected a hint of derisive laughter in that and turned slightly to look at Harry, "Pardon?" A grin, "You're blind. Turn round, I'll show you." Brows pinched together slightly, he turned back and Harry's right arm lifted, pointing. "There." He watched as the sweeping gesture took in the entire valley. He blinked.  
  
"It's a view, Harry." He felt the taller boy suddenly droop against him in silent laughter and then Harry's arms moved up and wrapped round his shoulders instead. "Yes, it's a view, Draco. Just look at it."  
  
So he did. From their vantage point they could see the whole valley, from the Quidditch pitch, to the green houses, to the lake, all surrounded by the Scottish mountains. He took all this in and then looked up. The sky was completely clear, which explained the cold, and the stars were stark against the midnight blackness. He realised that, if you put it all together, it was in fact quite beautiful, especially with the bright full moon moonlight glinting on everything around them.  
  
He sighed and leaned back against Harry, finally seeing what it was he had been brought up here to see. "Told you," Harry breathed against his ear. Just exactly when did you get so sentimental? He asked himself silently, marveling at Harry's ability to romanticize just about anything. It was doubly fascinating when he took into account the fact that Harry hadn't exactly led a very heart warming life thus far.  
  
"How did you find this place?" He asked quietly. He felt Harry shrug slightly, "I needed somewhere to escape to last year. I found the door one night and explored." He nodded, understanding that need for escape, he had felt it a lot himself last year, though he had invariably ended up locked in his own room rather than seeking out the heights.  
  
Harry moved away and he turned, watching him as he found a gently sloping bit of the roof and sat down. For a moment Draco stood, looking at Harry framed by the stars and various chimney stacks, then he followed and settled himself between the Gryffindor's knees, leaning his back against Harry's chest. He felt Harry's chin rest on top of his head and pulled his arms over his shoulders where they wrapped round him again, holding him tightly. "So, who else have you shown this to?"  
  
Harry sighed in what sounded like contentment, "No one. Though I'm sure other people must have found it by now." Draco thought about that for a moment, but he could only think of one thing to say, "Ah." So this wasn't just Harry's escape, this was the place he fled too to hide from the world, the place he probably hadn't even told Weasley and Granger about.  
  
In the ensuing silence he absently plucked at one of Harry's sleeves, vaguely comforted by the neatly muscled arms draped over his shoulders and round his chest, by the gentle weight of Harry's chin on the top of his head. He settled back a little more comfortably and closed his eyes, letting the Gryffindor keep him warm, listening to Harry's steady heart beat. He could sit like this forever, relishing in the new comfort Harry had brought to his life, forgetting the real world and everything that had happened to him. Sitting like this, he could almost believe he and Harry didn't have the pasts that they did, that they were two normal teenage boys, enjoying the evening.  
  
After a while, Harry shifted slightly, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and the cloak over the both of them, obviously for some extra warmth. It was vaguely disquieting to feel your body and everything that was touching it, but not be able to see it. This new arrangement was definitely warmer though.  
  
"I think, if we make it through the first week without the Slytherins trying to kill me, or the Gryffindors you, we'll do alright." Harry's voice was quiet, controlled, attempting to betray nothing as he said this, but Draco now knew that he had been worrying about it. He had to admit he was right though, Hogwarts students tended to get over things in a week or two, so the shock of his and Harry's friendship should pass soon, especially considering most of the students had half known since the summer anyway, what with Goodensnake's article in the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Yes, then things can get back to a relative normality," he near whispered in response. Harry's arms tightened slightly and they sat in silence again, watching the Scotch mist rolling down the mountains around them, wavering slightly when it hit the invisible magical field surrounding the grounds. It was quite beautiful, really, though he was sure the view was rather ordinary. He blinked at the absurdity of it all.  
  
He extricated himself, gently, from Harry's arms and stood, moving over to the waist high wall around the rim of the roof. Despite the cold and shivering slightly, he placed his hands palm down on the top and looked over.  
  
He looked at the Quidditch pitch on the far side and then to the green houses, before turning back to the mountains and the rolling mist, once again watching the way it wavered and created ghost shapes in the air as it hit the magical field. He realised, quite suddenly, as he watched the swirling shapes that this was the first time he had ever felt at all content on Hogwarts grounds. This moment, right now, as he watched the sleeping world around him, with Harry only a few feet away, his watchful and silent companion.  
  
No wonder the Gryffindor liked it up here; there was a comfort to be found on the roofs that could never be found on the ground, let alone in the cold and silent dungeons, in his own rooms, where he had lived the better part of the past six years. With a smile, he realised he felt something similar whenever he took to the skies. With a tiny pang of regret, he thought of the days he had still been part of the Slytherin Quidditch team, before he had quit in an attempt to get away from everything and everyone last year.  
  
He pressed his palms into the rough grain of the old stone, closing his eyes and listening, letting the texture of the stone and the sounds of the night play over his senses. The light, but distinctive, fizzle of magic around the whole grounds, the soft breeze through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, barren though they were due to the winter. The strange sound of birds singing during the night. The unmistakable, almost unnoticeable, sound of a sleeping building. Harry's footsteps drawing nearer.  
  
He didn't turn as Harry stepped up next to him and made no comment as the taller boy leaned down, placing his lower arms on the wall, hands clasped together. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
There was a short pause before he answered. "About what a strange day this has been."  
  
Harry laughed, "Tell me about it. I don't think I've had that many dirty looks in one day since fourth year."  
  
Fourth year. Well, that brought back memories. Unpleasant ones. '....half the Triwizard champions have died .... how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task is my bet.' Isn't that what he had said? He had meant every word of it, just not in quite the way he had presented it. When he'd found out about the dragons, his heart had plummeted unpleasantly and though outwardly he had been rooting for Cedric - simply on principal - inwardly he had been crossing his fingers on the hope that Harry would survive.  
  
He turned round and leaned against the wall, looking down into Harry's upturned face. He looked happy, but there was something in his eyes, behind the shield of his glasses, that hinted at something being wrong.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" He mimicked Harry's earlier question, but didn't really expect an answer. If there was one thing he had learned about the youth over the summer, it was that Harry didn't talk about anything that was bothering him. Apparently it was some learned response, after having no one to talk to until he was eleven and then having to keep secrets and live through painful situations for the past six years, it was hardly surprising.  
  
Harry stood and sat next to him on the low wall, shoulder to shoulder, with the invisibility cloak folded neatly over his knees. "Nothing really. Just wondering how the rest of the year will go. We've only been back a day..."  
  
He lifted his arm and trailed the cold fingers of his right hand over the back of Harry's neck comfortingly, "Stop worrying. I'm a Slytherin, remember? I'll be using all my cunning and artifice to get through the year." He paused, Harry had looked, just for a moment, like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it, instead turning it into a smile. Sliding his fingers into the thick, soft, dark hair, he continued, "And you, as well as Granger and Weasley, will be wasting all that Gryffindor bravery I hear so much about on the enterprise."  
  
Harry shook his head, closing his eyes in quiet laughter. Smiling, Draco stood and picking up the cloak, which he then dropped to the floor, placed himself directly between Harry's knees, one hand still brushing languidly through the dark mop of hair. A moment later Harry's hands were on his hips, sliding through the folds of his dressing gown. The hands didn't still until they pushed gently under his pajama top and brushed against his bare skin. Harry's cold fingers made him jump slightly.  
  
"Sorry," Harry whispered with a small smile as he stood, but Draco didn't care, it had been far too long since Harry had touched him, skin to skin. He simply smiled and gently coaxed the taller boy's head down until their lips met.  
  
The first day of their last year at Hogwarts, and he was standing on the roof kissing Harry Potter. Not two months ago, this would have only happened in a dream, a dream, in fact, that he would have told himself to forget as pure fantasy. Rather childishly, he wanted to stick his tongue out at that part of himself, but it was currently otherwise engaged in a much more adult fashion.  
  
It was certainly cold up here, but this was definitely a nice way to warm up, especially if the Gryffindor continued his physical explorations. He slipped one arm around Harry's waist and pressed close, loving the feel of one of Harry's hands splayed out halfway up his back, the other tucked gently under his waistband in that ever so comfortable spot just above his rear.  
  
They hadn't done this since that night in Bath, in his hotel room, and he had sorely missed the physical intimacy. Oh sure, they'd kissed and hugged and so on, but they had spent the summer at the Weasley place, and it was hard to find any privacy, so they had been unable to do anything with this intensity or passion. So long as he could keep Harry in his arms, he didn't care if anything else happened this night, he just wanted to relish in his touch.  
  
They came up for air a few moments later and Harry moved to his neck, gently kissing and caressing with his lips. Draco placed a hand on Harry's bottom and pressed their hips together firmly as the taller boy explored his neck and throat. He was thoroughly warmed now, some parts more than others and the feel of the Gryffindors body pressed tightly against his own was almost intoxicating. He leaned his head back slightly, giving Harry's questing lips more access, his eyes falling open slightly. Lost in the sensations roving his body, he didn't pay any particular attention to the Thestral that flew silently overhead.  
  
With an almost inaudible groan, Harry claimed his lips again and he lost himself in the expert caress of Harry's tongue against his own as they sparred almost playfully.  
  
With a tiny grunt of surprise he realised Harry's hands had slowly moved, worked their way over him. One was still resting on his back, just under his shoulder blades, as if to hold him up, the other had moved around the inside of his waistband and was now gently caressing the trail of hair that led from his navel downwards. His stomach pulled inward slightly at the tickling sensation and then contracted when Harry's hand moved down and began stroking him.  
  
He buried his face in the crook between Harry's neck and shoulder, stifling a moan of absolute pleasure. Lips pressed against the back of his neck and suddenly he was enveloped in the long fingered hand.  
  
"Oh, Merlin," he breathed, fighting the urge to bite into Harry's skin. This was definitely not what he had thought would happen when he followed the instructions left in the note. He had wanted it, had even dared to hope for it, but hadn't really believed it would happen, not yet, they hadn't been together a month! He had been perfectly content to wait until Harry was ready, even though he didn't known when that would be; perfectly content with any closeness Harry was willing to give him.  
  
He closed his eyes and forgot to think, becoming completely lost in the feel of Harry's firm grip. If anyone had thought to ask right then, he wouldn't have remembered his own name. As the grip tightened he gave into the urge and bit into Harry's shoulder, gripping the back of his top with both hands. Harry whispered something, but he didn't hear, all his attention was centered on the steady rhythm between them.  
  
He held for as long as he could, relishing in the feel of it all, of Harry doing this to him and the release, when he finally allowed it, almost knocked him out. He bit back a deep throated moan of intense pleasure and collapsed against Harry's chest, gasping with each pulse, riding the waves as the taller boy slowed his own breathing.  
  
Again, he heard Harry whisper something, it sounded like a simple cleaning spell, and he opened his eyes. He tried to speak as Harry's arms encircled him, but his voice came out as a croak. He swallowed and tried again, "Bloody hell, Harry."  
  
Very eloquent. Top marks for the attempt though.  
  
What felt like an age, but surely couldn't have been more than a few minutes later, his brain kicked back into gear. He leaned up and kissed Harry, slowly and gently, with all the passion he currently felt. It was his turn.  
  
He pushed Harry down until he was sitting on the low wall, and then slipped down until he was kneeling at his feet, between his knees. He looked up with a smirk. The taller boy blinked, though there was an undisguised heat in his eyes, "Draco, you don't have to," he whispered. He leaned into the hesitant touch of Harry's hand on his cheek and grinned, "I know."  
  
He smoothed his hands up Harry's inner thighs and watched the taller boys face as he gently uncovered him. The green eyes darkened, then closed and he smirked to himself as he leaned forward and gently nibbled. There was a sharp intake of breath above him, the hand on his cheek moved up and through his loose, breeze blown hair.  
  
Enjoying himself immensely, he licked, nipped, sucked and caressed until Harry moaned his name in a strained voice, clearly begging for more. He didn't give in until Harry's hand tightened in his hair, at which point he swallowed him whole.  
  
"Oh, God, Draco!" The vehemently spoken words spurred him on and Harry's other hand found his hair, both tightened before it moved to his shoulder and gripped. It appeared the Gryffindor didn't know what to do with them until finally, he let him finish. Harry had curled up over him, but he didn't care, that was just what he wanted, he'd been aching to do this to him for weeks.  
  
As the Gryffindor quietly panted above him with each pulse, he swallowed, finally gently licking the last away before tucking him back in again and leaning up, putting his arms around the other boys chest. "That was...." He smiled as Harry trailed off and urged the taller boy's arms around him again.  
  
They simply held each other for what felt an eternity, both attempting to re-catch their breathing. Eventually, Harry chuckled and quietly said, "A little impulsive, is what I was going to say." "Hmmm," Draco agreed, not really caring, so long as he could stay like this forever and never return to the real world, the world of dead hands and red eyes, the world where he was looked at with nothing but loathing.  
  
He wasn't paying any particular attention to how much time passed, but the moon had moved significantly by the time Harry quietly said, "We should go, we've got Transfiguration first thing and I really don't want to face McGonagall while still half asleep." Well, he had a point.  
  
They found the cloak again and wrapped themselves in it before heading back to the door, which once again, Harry opened with a careless flick and softly spoken Alohomora, that he couldn't help thinking was entirely too easy in his hands these days.  
  
He rather groggily accepted the invisibility cloak when they reached the portrait hole to the Gryffindor dorm and common room. Apparently Harry wouldn't need it to get to his own room. They embraced and kissed and he left Harry standing watching empty air until his footsteps died away down the stair case at the end of the hall, taking the long walk back to the dungeons on his own.  
  
It was still cold, and Hogwarts was eerily quiet, there was something about the school that was wrong when there were no students around. He skirted Peeves and Mrs Norris and met no one else until he reached his own corridor. Snape swept into the hallway a second after he had and he jumped out of the way just in time, pressing himself against the wall as the House Master walked hurriedly past him.  
  
What the hell was he doing up? He had an insane urge to drop the cloak and simply ask the man, but though he considered him a friend these days, he didn't do it, settling instead for watching him stalk down the hall way and disappear round a corner at the end. He released a breath and quickly entered his common room, making his way to his room as quickly as possible without taking off the cloak.  
  
He slipped the silky material off his shoulders as he closed the door behind him, wondering what the Potions Master was up to. He threw both the cloak and his dressing gown onto the back of his desk chair and slipped under the covers of his invitingly warm bed, forgetting about his respected teacher as the events of the night crept back into his thoughts.  
  
As he curled up, wrapping the duvet over his shoulders, he smiled.  
  
* * * *  
  
He watched as Harry swung the invisibility cloak over his shoulders. "Harry, where are you going?"  
  
Tha raven haired youth jumped slightly, which was an odd sight to see when you could only see his head, and turned to look at him. "Oh, Ron. I'm just going for a walk." He was smiling in the lopsided fashion he had when he was talking of Malfoy. Ron rolled his eyes, "Just don't be back too late, give Malfoy my regards."  
  
Harry snorted lightly and his head disappeared from view, a moment later the portrait opened then closed. Harry was gone. Ron shook his head and returned his attention to the Tarot cards placed in front of him on the table. He was concentrating on the suit of Cups this evening. He didn't have Divination again until Friday, but he found the cards unendingly fascinating, so putting off the homework like he used to do, didn't even cross his mind.  
  
Wrinkling his long nose slightly, he picked up the book again and flicked to the page that described the suit.  
  
'Feelings and emotions. The suit of Cups describes the shifting and ever- changing world of feelings, and the prime symbol of feelings is the element of water. Like water, feelings are always changing.'  
  
He looked down at the fourteen cards spread out before him, noting the repeating depiction of water in various forms, the pale blues, mauves and pinks, the repeated use of water type symbols - such as fish and mermaids - and of course, the Cups themselves.  
  
He had to familiarize himself with each card and the emotion it depicted and apparently the best way to do this was to associate each one with a part of his own life. It was a tiring business, but very rewarding and already, he had most of the cards of this suit down. Trelawney, of course, wanted him to have the whole suit memorized for Friday, for his double lesson with her. He guessed she was going to make him give her a reading on emotions for the coming month.  
  
He stared at the Page of Cups for a while; funnily enough the character drawn on the card looked just like Harry. Well, a Harry with long hair and no glasses, anyway. It was slightly weird. Though not quite as weird as the King of Cups. The figure on that card distinctly reminded him of Lucius Malfoy. It was mildly chilling, but both resemblances helped him in learning the meaning of the two cards.  
  
He sighed and placed his chin in his left palm, resting the weight on his elbow as he stared at each card, occasionally reading the description and divinatory meaning out of the book. He sat tapping his index finger on the six for a while, unable to remember the meaning. With a sigh, he picked up the book again.  
  
'The Six of Cups indicates a time of memory and nostalgia, suggesting that comfort can be drawn from returning to the past when the present is difficult. The Six of Cups also indicates that long held dreams could become a reality.'  
  
"Bugger," he mumbled under his breath, he was never going to get this. He blinked and snorted. He was being negative again, of course he was going to get this, he'd mastered the I-Ching last year, the Tea Leaves, Crystal Ball, Pendulum, even Palmistry, this was just another step along the way and he would beat it. Just not at quarter to one in the morning. He had Transfiguration in less than eight hours, and facing McGonagall while half a sleep was not on his to do list.  
  
Heaving a gentle sigh, he began picking up the cards, placing them together again in order. He pulled the small decorated bag towards him and put the fourteen cards back with the other sixty-four. As he slung the long rope like strap of the bag over his head and right arm a wave of pressure washed over him.  
  
"Oh, no." He instantly sat back down again and dropped his face into his hands, knowing precisely what was about to happen. At least these days he had prior warning, a warning he could understand. Within moments, he blacked out and his head hit the table with a gentle thump.  
  
He was standing in a darkened room, lit only by small candles standing in a circle. He blinked and looked around, doing his best to memorize everything he saw. The room was stone, no windows, no doors, just stone walls that looked old, though clean. The candles were the only decoration.  
  
Sitting in the middle of the floor were two figures, wearing robes of a single colour, the one on the left wearing a robe of solid yellow with gold trimming on the collar and cuffs. The figure on the right wearing a robe of solid blue with trimmings of pink at collar and cuffs. He'd have to look the associations up when he awoke.  
  
He moved closer and suddenly the shadows faded, the candles burning a little brighter, shinning on one head of black hair, one of silver. It was Harry and Malfoy. Harry was the one in yellow and gold, Malfoy the one in blue and pink. They were sitting cross legged on opposite points inside the circle of candles. Their hands were resting on their knees, palm up, fingers relaxed. They both had their eyes closed.  
  
Harry's glasses were missing.  
  
He moved closer again, looking closely at their faces. They both seemed peaceful, relaxed. There was no actual emotion evidenced in their expressions. He started slightly when they began speaking, in complete unison. At first, they spoke so quietly that he couldn't catch what they were saying, but eventually their voices began to rise.  
  
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches .... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies .... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not .... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives .... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ....'  
  
They repeated this over and over, speaking slowly, monotonously, evincing no emotion whatsoever as they repeated the words. He took a step back as their voices rose and the full impact of what was being said hit him.  
  
It was a prophecy. A full blown prophesy, something he'd not been privy to in his visions before. But that really was only secondary as he seemed to understand it. This prophesy was about Harry, Harry and Voldemort. He had to remember it.  
  
As he listened, he stepped closer again and the two boy's eyes opened. They both turned to look at him, still speaking together the words of the prophesy. Their eyes were white. They were blind, but they were looking directly at him as they spoke. That was strange in itself, normally during a vision, the people he saw never saw him. He stayed where he was, looking at them as they stared at him with their blind eyes until they finished speaking and sat in silence once more.  
  
For a moment he simply stood and then they turned again, closing their eyes and sitting as they had when he'd first seen them. The silence was now deafening, he wanted to know more, but the room faded from view to be replaced by a new one.  
  
This time the walls were smooth, again without windows or doors. Instead of exposed stone, they were a startling shade of blood red. There was no visible source of light but he could see perfectly. What startled him was the figure standing completely silently in the exact center of the room.  
  
Severus Snape. He was screaming, face contorted in pain, fingers curled in claw like fashion, tears streaking down his sallow cheeks. It was incredibly chilling, to see so much raw pain on this man, to see him screaming and screaming, but to hear absolutely nothing.  
  
The Potions Master was wearing a Death Eaters robes, the mask lying on the floor between his feet. The robes were torn, muddied, bloodied. He could see scratches on the mans hands and face, some old and scabbed over, others new and still weeping, blood sliding over his skin.  
  
He had an almost overwhelming sense of fear, but not for himself, nor for Snape. Snape was scared for someone else, and he couldn't figure out whom. He closed his eyes trying to figure it out, but as he did, the feeling dissipated. When he opened his eyes again he was standing in another stone walled room.  
  
There was a small window high up on the wall, barred with rusted iron and no glass. The walls were muddy, covered in mould and dirt, the floor was strewn with straw. It was damp and obviously made from compacted earth rather than stone. There were old iron chains with lockable cuffs dangling at random points along the walls.  
  
Lying in the middle of the floor with chains trailing from her wrists, her hair completely covering her face, her school robes torn and muddied, was Hermione. He stepped forward. He knew this was a vision, not the truth, possibly nothing more than a metaphor, but he still felt shocked and afraid. What did this mean?  
  
There were no other objects in the room, not even a door, only Hermione lying on the floor. He stepped closer and moved around her, taking in everything he could, so he could write it down accurately later.  
  
There were sore marks on her wrists, as if she had struggled against them for a long time, cuts on the exposed skin where her robes, and the clothes under them were torn. Her hair was matted, possibly with blood, but it looked more likely to be dried mud, though on closer inspection, it was neither. He didn't know what it was, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.  
  
He closed his eyes in exasperation and when he opened them again, the vision had changed once more. He was standing in a rapidly withering field of sweet corn. He looked around, completely lost. The sky above him was bleak, gray and swirling as if the clouds were being battered by fierce winds that didn't reach the ground. Suddenly a piercing sound hit him.  
  
He turned, clutching at his ears and falling to his knees. Three women were screaming. No, the same woman at three different ages. Pure black eyes, white skin, long gray hair, wearing robes of solid black. They continued screaming, not taking a breath, staring straight up at the sky, their hands clasped before them.  
  
The scream grew steadily louder, more piercing. He fell to his elbows and screwed his eyes shut. The sound disappeared and the ground under his knees and elbows changed from rough soil to smooth nothingness.  
  
He opened his eyes. There was nothing. He could feel his limbs, feel his body, but he couldn't see it or anything. He climbed to his feet and looked around.  
  
There were two glowing figure right in front of him, one glowing green, the other blue. He blinked. The green was being held in the arms of the blue and both were crying silver tears. There was an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss in the air.  
  
Slowly, the scene faded and he was standing in a woodland clearing. This time he was enveloped by a sense of urgency, not from the scene itself, but what felt like himself, his own inner power telling him this was urgent, that he needed to understand this vision.  
  
Listening to his instincts, he turned and saw what was so urgent. Lucius Malfoy.  
  
The man was standing directly in the center of the clearing. He was wrapped neck to toe in ivy, the vines tangled around him tightly. Yet he was smiling, smirking in fact and there was a malicious glint in his eyes.  
  
As he watched in astonishment, the vines began to wilt, to die. They were shriveling and breaking as he watched, very soon the man would be free. He stepped back, wishing this wasn't happening. This vision he could read perfectly well without the help of Trelawney or Dumbledore.  
  
He stepped backwards as the ivy shriveled away completely, breaking down into dust, as Malfoy stepped forward out of its hold. Malfoy closed his eyes and when he reopened them, they were red and cat like.  
  
"Master," he drawled and lifted his left arm.  
  
The scene disappeared and he was staring at something out of focus.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
He jumped, sitting up with a start. He was awake and back in the common room, exactly where he had been. How long had he been out?  
  
"Ron?" He turned at the sound of his name. Harry was standing next to him, giving him a worried look, "You alright?"  
  
He blinked and ran his hands over his face, through his hair, "Yeah, must have fallen asleep." Harry frowned slightly and then nodded, though he kept the worried expression as Ron stood. "What time is it?"  
  
Harry glanced at his muggle watch, "Two in the morning."  
  
Two in the morning? Bloody hell, he'd been under for over an hour. He always marveled at the amount of time lapse when the visions took him, it didn't matter how short the actual vision was, he always awoke after much more time had passed than he would have believed possible. Trelawney had once said something about the Spiritual world, were the visions stemmed from, worked on a different time scale to the corporeal world.  
  
He shook his head slightly, working to keep the visions clear in his mind, the words of the prophecy ringing through his senses. He had to write it all down as soon as possible, before he slept, as if he fell asleep, he'd forget them.  
  
"Did you and Malfoy have fun?" he asked, attempting to distract Harry from wondering how he could have fallen asleep right after packing away his things. Unexpectedly, Harry blushed and smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide, "Yeah, fun."  
  
Ron drew himself up slightly, "I'm not going to ask," he gave his best friend a very knowing look as they made their way up the stair case to the boy's dorms. They parted at the door to the room he shared with Dean, Seamus and Neville, all of whom he could hear snoring, and watched Harry as he silently made his way further up the stair case to his single room at the top of the tower.  
  
He crept into the room and within the privacy his curtained off bed gave him, he wrote up every single detail he could remember of the visions. He didn't allow himself to sleep until nearly an hour had passed.  
  
Pulling the duvet up to his chin, he wondered, just before he drifted off, where Harry's invisibility cloak had gone.  
  
* * * *  
  
Azkaban. The wizarding world's ultimate deterrent and all round punishment. The worst criminals and it has to be said, the occasional innocent, languished within its confines, despairing of ever seeing their freedom again.  
  
The Dementors had departed months ago, to join Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but the prison was still feared by every Witch and Wizard in Britain and Europe. The official's had had to come up with a new way of keeping the inmates in order, though. Now, instead of there being horrendous creatures sliding around, intent on sucking the happiness from every soul, there were spells that had the same effect.  
  
Powerful spells were wrought into the very walls of each cell. Spells that caused lethargy, paranoia, nightmares when they slept, slow loss of memory and self, spells that brought out the worst memories of a person and engulfed their very spirits within them. Few retained their sensibilities.  
  
Of those few, Lucius Malfoy was a member.  
  
Lucius Malfoy had no true nightmares and no 'bad memories'. Whatever visions the spells wrought over his mind, he neither believed nor entertained, knowing, with the full conviction of a devoted Death Eater, that he would one day be free and as such, the nightmares and bad memories were void. He sat through each with a bored expression, thinking only of the day he would be free to exact his revenge on the Potter boy. The very boy who had looked at him blankly during the Wizengamot while giving evidence and given him a small smile as he was led away, leaving behind the respect he had garnered over the years as well as no small amount of his dignity.  
  
He closed his eyes and imagined torturing that smile off his young face. The screams of his fellow inmates turned into the screams in his mind, the screams he would entreat Harry Potter to give him.  
  
He hated this place. Hated that he had to live in such squalor while that boy ran around foiling every plan his Lord made. Hated that he had spent the better part of a year eating nothing more than slops and bread, drinking stale water and using a toilet that was situated in the same room in which he slept. Hated that he had lost a significant amount of weight and that his hair hung about his shoulders like dirty straw. Hated that his face had begun to give way to age, the bags under his eyes, hated the dull, slate gray his eyes had become where once they were nearly silver. He hated, most of all, the damn beard he had been forced to grow.  
  
Oh, he was a vain man, he knew this very well. He had been brought up to value his appearance. Since he could walk and talk, he had been taught how to groom himself, how to appear in public. A good appearance always gave outstanding first impressions. Even now, in this place, with his hair as it was, and his body verging on gaunt, he did his best.  
  
He was certainly a cut above the rest of the inmates. Without a wand, it was hard, but he combed out his hair and beard as often as possible and cleaned on every given occasion. He made sure his clothes were kept neat, even though he was wearing prison robes of a gray light weight material. He bartered with the new guards, most of whom were known to him, to have his cell magically cleaned at least once a month.  
  
Through the execution of these few privileges, he was held in high esteem by the other inmates, at least four of whom were his fellow Death Eaters, detained on the same fateful day in which he had been. Jugson, Dolohov, Macnair and Mulciber. Crabbe, Avery, Rookwood and Lestrange had been the only ones to escape, Bellatrix, his sister in law, taken by Voldemort himself, Crabbe and the others fighting off the Aurors and disapparating. Rabastan was in St Mungo's; his head still that of a baby's.  
  
He gave a hearty sigh and leaned forward, head in hands, staring at the unevenly set stones of the straw covered floor. His straggly hair fell forward, it was now obscenely long, covering his hands and hiding his face from view. He understood why he had been left so long, it was almost a given that the Dark Lord would attempt another breakout soon after his imprisonment, which was exactly why he hadn't done it. He had waited instead, probably setting up new plans.  
  
He was outside the loop, and it bothered him greatly. Never before, since Voldemorts return, had he been so out of the chain of command and knowledge. It was infuriating to not know what was going on out in the world. He only rarely received any news, normally from Narcissa, sending him the odd cut out from the Daily Prophet; he hadn't received anything from her since the early summer though, relating to the failed attempt to kidnap Potter. And, of course, the one about his son.  
  
Goodensnake's article had incensed him. To hear in such a callous fashion that his only son had defected, to join Dumbledore! That he had, of all things, befriended Potter! He had raged about it to Macnair, another of the few who was unaffected by the spells, cursing The Boy Who Ruined Everything for hours.  
  
He knew his son too well to think him using Potter as a means to hide from the Aurors or any other such nonsense. No, Draco was truly friends with the boy and it was just another reason to torture Potter, to take as much pleasure from hurting him as he could, and now that Draco was no longer for the Dark, he could use his own son to hurt the boy without remorse.  
  
He picked up the last cutting that had been sent to him and scanned through it. This one had been sent to him by unknown persons. It was a cutting from that most stupid of magazines, 'The Quibbler.' How could that idiot, Lovegood, have approved this for printing? Ridiculous.  
  
He smiled to himself and put the cutting back down again. He glanced out the window, the tiny, barred window that looked over gray waters and gray sky. It was dismal. He had been forced to look at that view for over a year. But soon, soon it would be over and he would once again have his freedom.  
  
He lay back on the horrible wooden palette that served as a bed and putting his arms behind his head, stared up at the ceiling. He crossed his ankles, looking every bit the haughty aristocrat that he was and smirked.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Mildly Interesting Info:  
  
R.S.I - Repetitive Strain Injury. Over working of the muscles, tendons etc in one particular joint, I suffer it in both wrists from the amount of time I spend typing. I imagine Witches and Wizards would suffer it occasionally because of the constant wrist-flicking in wand work.  
  
The rooftop scene - Inspired by the film 'Velvet Goldmine' (at least, I think that's what it's called, perhaps 'Velvet Underground?' something like that at any rate) from the scene where two of the main characters (both blokes) of the film make love on the roof of a building while it's snowing. It's a very touching scene.  
  
The Tarot quotes - all the quotes, as well as the description of card faces, are from 'Beginner's guide to Tarot' by Juliet Sharman-Burke, the card illustrations were done by Giovanni Caselli. This book and deck are real and I am actually learning the Tarot with them and do indeed feel the Page of Cups looks like Harry and that the King looks like Lucius. Also, the Six of Cups is the one I'M having problems remembering ^^  
  
The Visions - Inspired by the serial killers mind in 'The Cell.' I just liked the way the imagery was set out in that film and the bleakness and surrealness was the true inspiration, especially the one of the three screaming women, which as well as being directly influenced by The Cell, is influenced by the Maiden, Mother and Crone of my religion. Each vision in this chapter has a direct link further on in the story, so be warned.  
  
What Happened Last December? - You will find out, just be patient.  
  
As you may have noticed, this chapter took a lot longer to write than the previous ones, it is also ever so slightly shorter - this is because I'm going through some rough times RL as well as having a lot of university work to be going on with. I'm working through my problems, and the work is getting done, however, so the next chapter shouldn't take quite so long.  
  
You may also notice that I haven't gone 'all out war' like I promised I would, this is simply an authors discretion, I didn't think it would fit, so I haven't written it. Sorry if this disappoints anyone ^^  
  
Here's the school timetable for Seventh Years:  
  
Week one:  
  
Monday: Potions, Potions, Break, Muggle Studies, Muggle Studies, Lunch, Divination.  
  
Tuesday: Transfiguration, Charms, Break, Arithmency, History, Lunch, Herbology.  
  
Wednesday: DADA, DADA, Break, Ancient Runes, Ancient Runes, Lunch, Charms.  
  
Thursday: Arithmency, Care of MC, Break, Transfiguration, DADA, Lunch, History.  
  
Friday: Divination, Divination, Break, Herbology, Herbology, Lunch, Care of MC.  
  
Week two:  
  
Monday: Potions, Divination, Break, Ancient Runes, Care of MC, Lunch, Muggle Studies.  
  
Tuesday: Charms, Charms, Break, Transfiguration, Transfiguration, Lunch, History.  
  
Wednesday: Muggle Studies, Potions, Break, Herbology, History, Lunch, Ancient runes.  
  
Thursday: Arithmency, Arithmency, Break, Care of MC, Care of MC, Lunch, DADA.  
  
Friday: Transfiguration, DADA, Break, Muggle Studies, Divination, Lunch, Potions.  
  
Astrology: Every Saturday at Midnight.  
  
Each lesson is an hour long, break is thirty minutes and lunch is fifty, the day starts at eight thirty, finishes at two fifty. If I've got the math wrong, give me a shout oo;  
  
Now, I know you're all thinking, 'they only have a one week timetable at Hogwarts!,' I decided to base the 6th form time table on the time table I used in 6th form, it seemed more appropriate, and gave me some fun to figure it all out. I will be adhering to it, so it also gives you all something to watch ^^ My poor old brain will not like me, I'm sure of it.  
  
I look forward to reading everyone's thoughts on the chapter!  
  
Hannah 


	5. Chapter 04

Any and all recognizable characters, names and places are copyright J.K. Rowling. I'm making no profit whatsoever and sincerely hope she doesn't find my writing too offensive. All other characters, names and places, as well as the story itself, are copyright me, and if you nick them, I will set Angust, my pet angst sprite on you.  
  
* * * *  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Quidditch trials. Admittedly, Gryffindor Quidditch trials, but it was somewhat relaxing to watch Harry up in the air as he flew around, watching, occasionally taking part, calculating. As Captain, Harry was conducting the trials for new Chasers. Chaser was the only position going this year as Ron had greatly improved as Keeper, Ginny had turned to be the only Chaser, Sloper and Kirke had stayed as Beaters and Harry had been reinstated as Seeker.  
  
As he watched, Draco mused on the fact that Harry had been right in his assessment of the Hogwarts student body. It had been only two weeks since the beginning of the new school year, since that first night back, and the dark looks, rumors, muttering in the hallways, had all dissipated. To be replaced, inevitably, with Quidditch fever. It certainly wasn't a bad thing; at least now they could walk down a corridor between lessons without having to fend off what Harry called 'Twenty Questions'. It also freed up a lot more time to do their homework assignments and catch any alone time they wanted.  
  
Fiddling with his latest Arithmancy assignment, something he had brought with him to at least make it seem he was keeping busy rather than spending the hour doing nothing but boy-watching, he sat back and mused over that last thought. After that rather eventful evening on the roof, they hadn't been able to get much more time alone, it appeared seventh year was going to be a sight more arduous than sixth, and that had been hard enough.  
  
Most evenings had been spent writing extra long dissertations for Advanced Potions, practicing complicated spell casting for Advanced Transfiguration or going through the complicated workings of Arithmancy. Harry hadn't fared any better; having DADA instead of Arithmancy in his case didn't seem to be any less of a crutch. He had no idea how Granger was coping with four courses at once, each as grueling as the other, as well as the new elective she'd decided to take in Ancient Runes and he had often seen Weasley elbows deep in a pile of Divination books. He also had his occasional tutorial sessions with Vince and Greg, even though they were doing Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, they still needed a little extra help now and then.  
  
He sighed silently and determined to get on with his assignment; he only had two more days to complete it. And these are supposed to be the best years of our lives, he thought a little reproachfully. A few moments later some movement to his right made him look up, surprised. Normally, he was left alone, so this intrusion was more than a little unwelcome.  
  
Granger. She was lugging her book-bag over one shoulder, climbing around the stands, trying to brush her still bushy hair out of her eyes so she wouldn't trip over anything. Following her, rather dreamily, was Luna Lovegood. After two weeks back at school, he still hadn't figured out exactly why it was Harry liked the girl so much. It was fairly obvious, even from where he was sitting, that Granger also didn't share in the affection.  
  
Maybe it was her loneliness? As he watched the two girls make their way up to him, he pondered it. Luna was one of those neglected types, from the same kind of mold as Longbottom, or even Harry himself; always on the fringe of things without many true friendships. Her strange sense of style surely didn't help her in this case; today she had her long blonde hair tied in a braid that coiled round her head, with strands of loose hair and hairpins sticking out every which way. She also happened to be wearing obtrusively large pink plastic hoops in her ears that just exasperated her large eyes, making them even more prominent than usual.  
  
Draco smiled to himself when he caught Granger giving the younger girl an almost dirty, highly disapproving look, her eyes resting on the earrings for a moment, but Lovegood didn't appear to notice. Granger's eyes turned to him a second later and he gave her a short finger wave, absently flicking them in her direction, acknowledging her glance more than anything else.  
  
As the two girls finally drew near him, he settled on the reason for Harry's partiality must have something to do with Lovegood being a bit of a kindred soul. Granger dumped her over-large bag on the seat to his right and sat down on the next one along, Lovegood taking the empty seat next to her. Granger looked up at the small crowd of airborne teenagers above them and asked, "How are they doing?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow, putting away the essay he knew he would not be able to continue with the two girls sitting so close. "Appallingly, of course. But you know how it is, Harry's giving them all a chance whether they deserve it or not." There was a snort from behind Granger, but he declined to acknowledge it. Granger 'harrumphed' at him, but continued to watch the try outs for some time, a little gasp she tried to hide when Weasley was almost knocked from his broom betraying the fact that she wasn't really interested in the game play.  
  
After a time, there was the call of an owl off to his left and he turned. Owls normally headed straight to the Great Hall at breakfast, or even occasionally at evening meal. For an owl to turn up during the day and during the weekend, was unusual to say the least. Taking his eyes off Harry and the Gryffindor Quidditch trials, he tracked its soaring form over the Forbidden Forest. It seemed to be heading straight for the Quidditch grounds.  
  
Hermione gasped again, almost jumping out of her seat, distracting him. He looked back at the trials and realised he had missed Ron actually being knocked clean from his broom by a bungling second year standing in for Beater. Luckily, Harry had caught the redhead and re-sat him on his broom. He smirked slightly, feeling a slight pang of something that reminded him of years gone by, when he had hated the two of them with great vehemence. Jealousy probably, that Ron was up there with Harry rather than himself.  
  
Shaking his head slightly, he turned back to find the owl, wondering where it was headed, whom the letter was for and was surprised to find the bird heading straight for him. He blinked and watched it, tracing its flight with his eyes as it drew closer, lifting his arm for it to rest on when it was within ten feet.  
  
The bird's wings spread gracefully, talons pushing forward, grasping his unprotected wrist tightly, but not drawing blood. His arm drooped under the owl's weight for a moment. Hermione made an interested noise from his right, but he ignored her and stroked the soft feathers on the top of the owl's head before taking the scroll of parchment from its beak. As soon as he had taken it, the bird once again spread its wings, for a second gripping his wrist so tight as to be painful, then it took off and flew back the way it had come.  
  
Not staying for any treats then? A little unusual for messenger owls, but not unknown. He sat back, raising an eyebrow at Hermione's interested expression as he slipped a finger under the wax seal, flicking the scroll open a moment later. He was greeted, at first, with an official Ministry Logo.  
  
"What the...?" His eyes widened of their own volition as he forced the parchment completely open and began to read:  
  
"Dear Sir,  
First, let us assure you that the correct authorities have already been informed and are currently working on remedying the situation and that if you should so wish it, we can, and will, offer any protection that you desire.  
We regret to inform you, therefore, that your father, Mister Lucius Malfoy, has escaped from Azkaban Prison. Early this morning it was found that your father, along with several other prisoners, had escaped the confines of the gaol.  
It is believed that the above mentioned had outside help and escaped during the hours of one and three thirty in the morning, inquiries are continuing into establishing the exact circumstances.  
Again, we wish to inform you that if you request it, we will give you protection, as well as anyone whom you believe needs it. We offer our condolences and wish you safety in your future endeavors.  
Yours,  
Alberto Crowley, Custodian of Security."  
  
The script was straightforward and a little untidy, as if the author had been rushed and a little fretful. Draco could completely understand why. He took a deep breath, counting silently, curling his fingers and hand over the parchment. The wax seal shattered in his grip and fell through his fingers. Opening his eyes, he brushed the fragments from his robes irritably and stood suddenly.  
  
Without a word to either of the girls, keeping his face as controlled and composed as possible, he grabbed his bag, shoved his way through the empty stands and made for the door leading out. He was going to his room. There were things to be done.  
  
With a glance up at Harry, who had stopped and was giving him a slight look of worry and surprise, he slammed the door behind him.  
  
* * * *  
  
He hadn't been able to fly for two weeks. Two weeks! It felt like an age and the suspense had been grating at his nerves. So much so, in fact, that he had even gotten to the point of snapping at Ron and Draco during one of their friendly arguments. Both had paused and given him a surprised look before continuing as if he hadn't spoken. Hermione had simply smirked, with, he swore, the word 'boy's' on her lips.  
  
Today wasn't anything like a real match, nor even anything like a real flight, but it was in the air, on brooms, so that was enough for him. Even if he was getting rogue bludgers and quaffles thrown at him by very eager second years. He dove and swooped round, behind a luckless second year trying out for chaser, scaring the girl half-witless and rose directly in front of one of the others. The boy dropped the quaffle with a yelp of surprise.  
  
"Morrisey, you'll get more surprises than that in an actual game, pay attention!" he shouted as he swerved past the third chaser try out, another girl, who didn't bat an eyelid. She'd probably get a place, if he had anything to say about it. He almost laughed when he remembered he was captain and that, of course, he had the last say in the matter. He often forgot in the rush of the wind, the thrill of the flight, that he had been made captain. Ginny, the only chaser left with the team after she had switched from seeker when he was reinstated last year, caught the dropped quaffle before it reached the ground and swung back up into the air again, grinning widely.  
  
He glanced towards the stands, smiling as he saw Draco's cold reception towards Luna. Draco had never liked the younger girl, but Harry did; she was another lonely soul whose quirky nature appealed to him and she happened to be rather intelligent underneath all the weirdness. He winked at Hermione, who had discreetly placed herself between the two blondes, and took off once more towards the group of Gryffindor students, anxiously awaiting their own trials.  
  
He settled next to Ron as the next three students switched with the last three, looking them over as they did so. "Who was the girl? With the spiky hair?" He asked in an undertone so as not to be heard by the other students.  
  
Ron looked over at her then back at Harry, a glint in his eyes, "That's Ruth Somerset, third year muggle born from Reading. She was rather good, wasn't she?"  
  
Harry nodded, "She's on the team, but lets not mention it 'till we've seen the rest and got at least two more." He sat for a moment longer, watching Ruth as she flew back to the group of waiting students. She seemed to treat the broom as if it were a part of her, her movement as light and natural as his own. When she reached the group, she lay down across the handle, crossing her toes over the brush, propping her head on crossed hands, closing her eyes and lying almost cat-like fifty feet above the ground, as if she felt truly at home in the air. It was a feeling he recognised in himself often enough.  
  
For a moment he was reminded forcefully of Sylvia. She had been the same, showing, at the young age of barely twelve, the self-assurance that would one day have made her beautiful. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, banishing the thoughts before they caused any more emotional havoc that would promote disaster so high above the grounds.  
  
With a parting grin at Ron, he flew back to the rear of the grounds to watch the latest three, preparing himself to swoop around them, as he had the others, looking for those who could hold their own. As the mock game started, he drew closer, looking for an opening. As his eyes passed over the trial, they were drawn to a small shape heading for the grounds. It looked like an owl. He blinked and forgot about it, keeping his mind on the trials.  
  
He watched, swooping in occasionally, startling one of the players, and taking note of the reactions of the other two. He saw out of the corner of his eye the sudden movement of a bludger heading straight for Ron, who was looking the other way. The stand-in Beater who had hit the ball Ron's way looked scared, completely unable to warn the red-head of what was about to happen. Normally such an incident was common-place; but today there were so few experienced players and certainly no experienced Beaters, (they had detention already) that this was a potentially lethal situation.  
  
As the ball moved within five feet of his friend, Harry hurtled across the pitch. When it was within two feet, Ron turned and saw it coming, but too late. As it struck the youngest Weasley boy soundly in the chest, Harry was ten feet away and gaining. Ron's grip on his broom slipped from the shock and he began to fall.  
  
With absolute clarity, Harry knew how it would go, saw in his mind where his best friend would land, what would happen to him. He grit his teeth and put on an extra burst of speed, checking his position, allowing, automatically, for wind and air friction. He saw the look on Ron's face as he began to fall and muttered an oath that came out sounding strange to him. He blinked it away and within seconds, he was under Ron, thrusting out an arm, gripping the broom with his knees.  
  
The taller, older, boy's weight hit him like a stunning spell. The air was knocked from his lungs, and his arm wrenched almost from its socket, but Ron gasped and grabbed him in turn. Mere seconds later, the world returned to normal, time slowed down again and Harry looked into the wide eyes of his friend.  
  
"Thanks, Harry. Merlin, I thought I was a gonner!" Ron wheezed the words, rubbing his chest with the one hand Harry wasn't desperately clutching, gently swinging in the after math of his sudden stop at the expense of Harry's shoulder.  
  
Ginny, who had managed to keep her head amongst all the panicking or whooping trial members, had actually caught her brother's broom before it drifted off and hit a tree. After a moment or two's work, Ron was safely ensconced back on his own broom once more, still rubbing his chest and ordering the younger students back into line with a gruff tone.  
  
Harry sat for a second, looking at his tingling right hand, remembering the oath he had uttered in some language he didn't understand, realizing that as he had said it, his hand had tingled. He hadn't noticed in the rush to catch his friend. He flexed his fingers, trying to figure out what had happened, what he had said, then shrugged, putting the matter aside until he had time to think about it.  
  
He glanced over at Hermione and Draco. She looked as if she had nearly fainted, which was highly understandable. He was sitting with his shoulder to the pitch, watching the owl Harry had spotted. He allowed himself an extra moment to look at his boyfriend, admiring the line of his back, the curve of his neck. Then, smiling to himself, he got back to the trials.  
  
A few minutes later he happened to glance back at the stands again. As he did so, Draco stood, clutching what looked like a letter in his tightly clenched fist. Hermione and Luna gave the Slytherin interested and slightly shocked looks, a second later the blonde had grabbed his bag and was shoving his way through the empty stands toward the door.  
  
Harry, surprised, stopped mid-flight; luckily, he was at the other end of the pitch by this time, supposed to be watching the latest three. He watched as Draco paused at the door, looking up at him, something glowing in his pale eyes, before wrenching the door open and disappearing down the dark stairway. Just moments later, as he seriously considered taking off after him, Hermione slipped through the door.  
  
What the hell was going on? Draco had looked determined but scared, which was not normally an emotion he evinced. Ron called out from the other side of the pitch and he had to go, he had trials to conduct. He shook his head, telling himself Hermione knew what to do, and got back to the trials.  
  
They had finished with all the students and all that remained was to end the session and tell them they would get back to them with the decision later in the day. He flew side by side with Ron and Ginny, his mind almost entirely concerned with where Draco had rushed off too as they touched down.  
  
Ginny nudged him as the three of them escorted the student's back to the changing rooms to clean up and change back into their normal robes, "What's wrong with you?" She slung her broom over her shoulder, looking for all the world as if she were a Quidditch master, giving him an intent look with her deep blue eyes. Ron glanced at them both, copper eyebrows raised slightly. Harry rubbed the back of his head with his free left hand, "Nothing really. I just saw Draco run off, is all."  
  
They stepped into the changing rooms and were instantly hit by the noise of fifteen Gryffindor students of varying ages talking, changing, and showering; they made their way to the last empty stalls at the back of the room. As they reached the doors and each opened one, Harry continued, "He looked a bit... surprised."  
  
"Probably found a broken nail," Ron muttered from the next cubicle, Ginny instantly berated him - "Ron! Be nice" - from the stall on his other side. Harry smiled to himself as he pulled a sweater over his head and Ginny asked him, "Any idea what's wrong? He doesn't seem the type to just run off."  
  
Pulling on his day robe, he thought back, "No, he isn't. Hermione went after him though."  
  
As he said this, Ron made a muffled sound from the cubicle to his left, which he interpreted as disgust and shock. Harry chuckled, clearly hearing Ginny forcing back a giggle at her brother's reaction.  
  
He sat on the small wooden shelf, listening as the two Weasley's finished up, opening their doors and moving into the main room. Lifting his now un- gloved right hand, he flexed the fingers, remembering once more the tingling sensation. As he thought about it, he realised the sensation had been not unlike that of using a wand. It had felt a little like the tiny, almost unnoticeable, tingle of magic that passed through the body and into the tool during spell casting. Except this sensation had been almost ten times stronger.  
  
The noise in the main room had lessened and was now almost gone. All he could hear were the voices of the Weasley siblings as they tidied up, chatting quietly about Quidditch; occasionally Ginny admonished her older brother over some comment or other.  
  
He flexed his fingers again, muttering an oath to see if the same thing happened. The word came out as intended, his hand felt normal, but something stirred within him. He balled the hand into a fist, looking at it with a frown and decided he would talk to Lupin about it later. He stood, packing his quidditch robes into the rucksack he used for them and opened the door as he slung it over his shoulder. He slipped the second strap over his other shoulder as he stepped into the main area and joined his two friends in cleaning the room.  
  
Twenty minutes or so later, just as they were finishing, the door opened and Luna wandered in, carrying Hermione's book-bag, as well as her own satchel. She still had the dreamy look, but she looked a little more here- and-now at the moment. Harry smiled in greeting, "Where's Hermione?"  
  
Luna shrugged, "She just ran away, following Draco."  
  
Ron frowned and took the book-bag, shrugging the strap over his head and shoulder as Ginny grabbed both their rucksacks. At that moment, Hermione stepped through the door, a pained expression on her face.  
  
* * * *  
  
As Malfoy took off, with a scowl deeper than any she had previously seen, Hermione made a quick decision. "Luna! Watch my things for me!" she dumped her book-bag on the surprised sixth year's lap and followed after the blonde Slytherin, trying to catch up with him before she lost him. She had been watching him carefully ever since the owl had turned up. Watched his changing emotions as they crossed his face. She didn't know him as well as Harry did, but she had seen enough over the waning weeks of the summer, and the past two weeks here to be able to assess his mannerisms and elusive facial expressions, so she could give an educated guess.  
  
As he had read the letter, she had seen the signs of fear, resignation, and anger. She knew that fear made him even angrier and wasn't looking forward to catching him in this mood. But she desperately wanted to know what had been in the letter to cause him to loose his composure so dramatically, wanted know if there was anything she could do to calm him down, to talk about whatever it was.  
  
Her robes flew about her legs, nearly tripping her as she ran down the rickety wooden staircase. Impatiently, she gathered them up in one hand, not caring that the world was now privy to the fact that she was wearing her tatty weekend jeans and rather un-glamorous trainers underneath.  
  
Catching her breath as she stood at the bottom, she looked around. Malfoy was halfway across the grounds already, making his way to the entrance of the main building. She had to confess herself surprised, he seemed such a laid-back and lethargic young man, putting about airs and graces that disguised him almost completely. To see him showing, first, half a dozen emotions in under a minute and second, this turn of speed, took her aback.  
  
Robes still in hand, she gave chase, ignoring the looks from the few students out at this time – mostly first and second years – who had already been surprised by Malfoy running past, and was soon gaining on him. By the time he had disappeared through the front door, Hermione was making her way up the staircase. She knew where he was headed, so she didn't stop to look for him as she passed through the door into the entrance hall, simply putting on an extra burst of speed, heading for the staircase that lead to the dungeons. Where she finally caught up with him. And surprised herself.  
  
"Draco!"  
  
It didn't just surprise her; the younger boy stopped mid-stride and turned to look up at her, all in one movement, almost spinning on the spot.  
  
"Leave me alone, Granger." With that he began to move off again, but ever persistent, Hermione rushed down the last of the steps in time to grab his right shoulder with her left hand. His momentum and her sudden stop caused him to spin suddenly and, with a grunt of surprise, trip. With a gasp of surprise and sudden distress, Hermione tightened her grip, trying to stop the inevitable. He began to fall and she was dragged down with him.  
  
They landed in a heap, limbs a-tangle; her nose was rather embarrassingly pressed into his chest and she could smell soap and a hint of lavender mixed with his own personal scent. It was so different to either Ron or Harry, whose scents she barely noticed anymore after years of being with the two of them, day in day out for most of the year.  
  
After a moment of shocked silence, Malfoy made an urgent attempt to get away. Hermione blushed a little and did the same, but as they stood she kept a hold on his sleeve, preventing him from making another bid for freedom and his own rooms.  
  
"Let go of me, Granger," he said quietly, tightly; his voice sounding oddly strained.  
  
Hermione composed herself and looked at him, noticing for the first time, two things. Firstly he had the letter clenched extremely tightly in his left fist, which seemed to be shaking slightly. Secondly, his eyes were rather wet, as if he were fighting back tears. She blinked, shocked, momentarily forgetting everything she knew about him, everything she assumed, seeing simply a scared teenager, too proud to shed tears in front of anyone; whether he knew them, liked them, or not.  
  
She swallowed; trying to reconcile what she now saw with what she knew, "What was the letter about? At least tell me that?" She asked the question quietly, with the odd feeling of not wanting to break the fragile feeling barriers he was currently holding up by speaking too loudly.  
  
He stared at her a moment in silence, until she gave in to it and continued, "I'm sure Harry would like to know..." She realised too late that she had said the wrong thing, the walls hardened behind his eyes and his brows drew together. Now he just looked pissed off.  
  
He leaned in a little, his voice dropping, taking on an even angrier tone, "I'm sure he bloody would, so I'm telling you now to tell him to stay the hell away from me! I don't want anyone trying to talk to me, least of all you Gryffindor's." He paused, moving back a little. For a second his eyes closed, and she saw him physically constraining himself, trying to calm down, "Just tell him... my Father has escaped."  
  
He violently shook her hand loose and span on his heel. Within moments Hermione was alone in the hallway, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, her skin cold with shock. Lucius Malfoy was free?  
  
She took a deep breath, one hand clutching at the collar of her robes. How had it happened? She wanted to know everything, but knew there was absolutely no chance now of catching him. He wouldn't tell her anyway. No wonder he was acting the way he was, if he had just been told that. She gathered herself, looking around, trying to get her bearings, and then headed back up the stairway and across the entrance hall.  
  
Harry was going to be furious; he was going to want to go down to Draco, to talk to him, calm him. But the blondes words had been abrupt and to the point. He didn't want Harry down there; he didn't want anyone down there. She was going to have to enlist Ron to help her prevent Harry from going anyway, especially after she repeated the Slytherin's words to him.  
  
She reached the grounds in time to see Luna Lovegood slipping into the changing rooms with her book-bag, her tightly bound hair shimmering in the late afternoon light. She sighed and rushed across the field, trying to compose what she would tell them in her head as she walked. When she reached the door, she paused to catch her breath and straighten her robes. Then she pushed open the door and stepped in.  
  
* * * *  
  
Harry was furious, but not for quite the same reasons Hermione had thought he would be. When she related everything to them, Ron, Ginny and Luna had looked shocked, worried; but he had been only angry. He had known since the summer after fifth year, after the Wizengamots, that it was merely a matter of time before Voldemort freed the surviving DeathEaters. It was no great shock to him that now was that time, Voldemort was obviously getting frustrated. The only shock was Draco's reaction. Harry had resigned himself, long ago, to the possibility of Voldemort one day freeing the man, getting his most loyal lackey back again, and had thought Draco had done the same.  
  
Evidently not.  
  
Harry was furious because, despite all the warnings Dumbledore and himself had given them, the Ministry had been obstinate and refused to do anything about upping the security of Azkaban prison after the Dementors had gone. Spells that leaked your worst nightmares and memories into your waking life were nothing to such an accomplished, if insane, wizard like Voldemort. Neither, apparently, were the shielding, unplottability and locking spells all over the prison any more of a deterrent.  
  
He wanted to go down right away, to talk to him about it, forgetting completely his decision to go and see Lupin. Then Hermione told him exactly what Draco had said on the matter. For a moment, Harry was shocked, but then his resolve strengthened; he would not be deterred that easily, Draco was his boyfriend dammit, and you didn't leave your boyfriend to suffer alone. He allowed Ron and Hermione to talk him into not going there and then, but said nothing on not taking a midnight stroll.  
  
The common room was full of excited younger students when they got back and he left the Prefects to keep the place in order, sitting down by the fire to contemplate who should join the Quidditch team. Ron joined him a little while later and they sat and talked it over for an hour or so, finally coming up with two names. Ruth Somerset and Lillian Oshi. Harry made the announcements and then took his leave, going to bed a lot earlier than usual. Ron and Hermione watched him the whole time, obviously expecting him to do exactly what he was planning.  
  
He climbed into bed after the nightly ritual, setting his wizarding alarm clock to wake him at midnight. He intended to get some sleep tonight, even if it was only a handful of hours, for he knew that going down to see Draco would probably result in a long nights arguing. Rolling over, he took a very small dosage of Dreamless Sleep and curled up, carelessly banishing the light in his lamp with a flick of his wand.  
  
He drifted lazily for what seemed a lifetime; tendrils of thought encasing him in warmth and comfort. It was nice, kind of a relief, being able to sleep without either becoming Voldemort or reliving the worst moments of his life. His eyes closed and his mind wandered. He expected; no, he knew that once he slept, he would know nothing until he woke, but this time that didn't happen.  
  
For some reason, his mind, while he slept, splintered into a host of images, each one different with a separate set of emotions, meanings; significance to his life. The day he met Draco in Bath, Uncle Vernon throwing him across the hotel room, saving Draco from the muggle thugs, the DeathEaters. The whole summer passed through his mind, moments picked out like shards of diamond in a pile of quartz. His mind settled on the image of himself this afternoon; centered on the tingling sensation.  
  
He realised that this was not the first time he had felt such a thing. When at Malfoy Mansion, when he had attacked the DeathEaters with all his fury, he had felt it, Draco had seen it, but he hadn't noticed until now. Something was stirring within him, and he didn't know what it was. As he realised this, other small instances from the past two weeks came to mind. The more strenuous DADA classes in particular seemed to have more than a handful of times when he had felt the sensation without realizing. Talking to Lupin began to have a more urgent edge, surely the man would have some idea of what was going on? Failing him, perhaps Dumbledore, though his Headmaster was busy these days and he didn't like to interrupt him without good reason, nor even to rely on him too much.  
  
When he woke, he had only a vague recollection of the dreamlike musings.  
  
His eyes lit instantly on the window. It was pitch dark outside; not a single glint of light was in the sky, indicating the onset of winter with a thick covering of clouds. He was used to the sight and the silence of the grounds. Rubbing his eyes, he slipped his feet from the bed, letting the change in position and weight pull his body into a sitting position. He picked up and put on his glasses as he slipped his feet into his slippers, stretching with a yawn as he stood.  
  
He automatically made his bed and padded silently over to his desk, snatching a quick glass of freezing cold water from the ever re-filling jug. He draped his fathers invisibility cloak over his shoulders as he drank, listening hard to the tower as he placed the empty glass down again and made his way to his door. He stopped at the door; one hand on the knob, the other playing idly with his wand, listening to make sure no one was in the hall before opening the it.  
  
Ron was standing directly opposite him, leaning with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a long suffering expression on his face, "Harry, you're predictable, mate."  
  
Sighing, Harry stepped through into the hall, closing and locking the door behind him. He raised his eyebrows at his friend and they made their way down to the common room in amicable silence.  
  
When they reached the large room, Ron turned to him, "As a Prefect I ought to be stopping you from doing this, but as you're Head Boy, my best friend and 'Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived', I'll let you off just this once."  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose at the popular title, but smiled, "'this once'?"  
  
They reached the door and Harry pulled up the hood as Ron gave him a scathing look, "Just try to get some sleep tonight, and don't say we didn't warn you if he blows up in your face."  
  
Harry grinned, "Thanks, and don't worry, I know what I'm doing." Ron shook his head and pushed open the painting for him, giving him a very disapproving look, "See you tomorrow, Harry."  
  
The corridors were cold, but not so cold he regretted not putting on his dressing gown, in fact, the chill was refreshing and served only to wake him up a little more. Erring more on the cautious side, Harry kept to the shadows, flitting undetected through the patches of moonlight that littered the floor and walls around him. He began to sense that same feeling he always felt when around at night, Hogwarts just did not seem right when it was this empty, it felt cold, unloved and so ancient that it could be alive.  
  
He reached the Entrance hall and paused; Peeves was floating up near the ceiling, busily making some trap or other, humming a rather annoying tune to himself with a little sneer on his face. Harry waited, anxiously watching the Poltergeist, occasionally catching an obscene word. Eventually he grew impatient, and making sure there was no one else within earshot, he crossed the hall as soundlessly as possible. He reached the stairway down to the dungeons and, with one more apprehensive glance up at Peeves; he shrugged, gave a silent sigh of relief and headed down the stairs into the cold shadows.  
  
Draco had given him the password ages ago; they had swapped so as not to complicate things if anything like this actually happened. He hadn't thought anything would happen, mind, but he was thankful that he had thought about it anyway. Finding Draco's room would also be simple; he had been there twice now and knew the way. The only thing giving him any worry was his reception once he got there; Draco was famous amongst the seventh and even sixth and fifth year students for his temper.  
  
"Questionable Duplicity," he whispered at the entrance, once again marveling at the mouthful of a password that just must have been chosen by Snape himself, then slipped through once it was open enough, closing it tightly behind him as he stepped into the room. Ever since his second year at Hogwarts, Harry had disliked the Slytherin common room. It was entirely too dark, with rather sinister looking furniture. The two times he had entered the room since the start of term this year, he had been reminded of the first time he had entered, and why he had done it. Talking to Draco that day as if they had been friends for the longest time had been a painful experience, but one he now treasured, though Draco had been different then.  
  
He ran his gaze round the room, making sure there was no one around who could have witnessed the miraculous self-opening portal. Obviously it could be blamed on Peeves, but entirely too many of his exploits had been over the years and he felt he was over-extending the mischievous ghosts usefulness.  
  
There was no one in sight, so he adjusted the cloak, making sure he was completely concealed and headed off to the far right doorway that lead to Draco's own room. This corridor was darker somehow, and colder, he wondered how Draco could stand it. He reached Draco's room and stood for a moment looking at the door, feeling the pressure of strong magic emanating from within. The blonde had extended his protection since this afternoon's events.  
  
He placed his right hand, palm flat against the door and closed his eyes. Yes. Much more protection than previously. There were also a few more detection and revealing charms. Almost all of them had Draco's signature feel. Two were different, but he knew who had cast them all the same. Blaise.  
  
He concentrated and a slight magical breeze drifted through the hallway, gently lifting the invisibility cloak around him, ruffling his hair and touching his face with soft coolness. Taking a breath, he pulled out the two charms cast by the new DeathEater with a slow motion of his right hand, pulling it back from the door and holding it steadily, palm up. He opened his eyes and looked at the two small, faintly glowing, balls of magic resting on his palm. Releasing the breath, he closed his fingers over them and held tight for a moment, willing them to dissipate, watching as tiny tendrils of magic seeped through his fingers to fade into the shadows around him.  
  
Then he shook his hand and blinked.  
  
What had he just done? His wand was resting in his pocket, so how the hell had he just done that? He blinked, looking at his hand again. A little nonplussed and intently curious, he knocked on Draco's door with the offending hand, the remembered feel of the two spells lingering on his palm. He heard movements inside at the same moment he felt that stirring deep inside him again. This time it was almost painful, and just as Draco opened the door with an annoyed expression on his face, Harry clutched at his chest and all but fell to his knees with a faint gasp.  
  
Strong hands grabbed his shoulders almost tenderly, holding him up. "Harry?" The annoyed expression was gone from Draco's face, replaced with one of concern. He felt the hood being pulled back, closing his eyes involuntarily as the light from Draco's room spilled over him.  
  
"What's wrong? Harry?"  
  
* * * *  
  
Draco grunted with surprise as Harry fainted and went slack in his arms. For such a skinny youth, he was surprisingly heavy.  
  
Without a second thought, he lifted Harry's unconscious form and carried him into his room, nearly slamming the door behind him as he kicked it closed. He laid Harry on his bed and after satisfying himself that he was alright and not about to choke on his own tongue, moved to his cabinet, opening the door with a quick word and searching it's contents with unhurried movements. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and stood, quickly moving back to his bed as he took the stopper out of a small blue glass bottle.  
  
He leaned down slightly and waved it under Harry's nose. Almost instantly his face contorted with disgust and he turned away, screwing his eyes shut tighter.  
  
Draco stoppered the bottle once more and placed it on his bedside table, sitting carefully on the mattress next to his boyfriend. "Harry?" He leaned over him and slid the invisibility cloak off the Gryffindor's shoulders; it was much easier to relate to someone you could actually see.  
  
The annoyance he'd felt at hearing Harry's knock had dissipated in the shock of having him faint on his very doorstep – as it were – and now he was just trying to figure out what had happened. He shook Harry a little on the shoulder, but got nothing other than a vague mumbling and faint stirring for his troubles.  
  
Whatever had caused Harry to faint was not normal. He rolled the other youth onto his back again and re-tried the 'wake-me-up' potion that he had had to try a few times on his own mother in the early years of his Hogwarts career, when The Dark Lord had been just beginning to break back into the world. This time it had a much more promising effect and Harry's eyes opened.  
  
"Draco?" he asked tiredly, coughing at the stench of the potion. Draco raised an eyebrow, re-stoppering the bottle and wrinkling his nose a little as bit of the scent wafted up to him, "Yes. What happened?"  
  
Harry sat up looking a little bewildered, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"I'm not sure... I – I did something just now, and then..." He patted his chest lightly and Draco got the sense he was trying to explain something almost entirely foreign to him. Whatever it was, he was sure it had been painful. He stood, giving Harry a worried look, "Give yourself a moment to wake up, then we'll talk, ok?"  
  
Harry nodded slightly and flopped back onto the mattress. Draco turned and crossed to the other side of his room. He conjured up two mugs and a pot of tea and began stirring it lazily, getting it as thick and strong as he liked it.  
  
"I did some magic."  
  
He turned back, "Is that all? You shouldn't have conked out like that."  
  
"I didn't use my wand."  
  
Draco stopped mid-stir.  
  
"It's not the first time I've done it, but it was the first time I'd done it on purpose..."  
  
Harry was sitting again, speaking quietly, looking at his hands in wonderment. Draco composed himself and poured the two mugs of tea. What Harry had just said was extraordinary. There were many witches and wizards who could perform magic without the aid of a wand – it was just a magical tool for helping focus, after all – Dumbledore and Snape were two of them, his father another; but to be doing it at his age and without any of the training? No wonder he had fainted. But what the hell had he done outside this room?  
  
Draco handed Harry one of the mugs and took a sip from his own, "I thought you were getting a bit," he paused, trying to think of the right word, "proficient with your wand. You don't seem to need it anymore." Just a couple of years ago, he would have been jealous of Harry's talent, but this night, after all they'd been through, he only worried.  
  
"What did you do, anyway?" he asked, sitting on the bed opposite him.  
  
Harry took a sip then looked up, there was an intensity in his green eyes that was almost breathtaking, "Blaise had a couple of spells on your rooms again," he shrugged, "I removed them."  
  
Draco frowned. He had known nothing about them, which was strange, because he checked his room every day now, checking to make sure she hadn't been keeping it up. To hear he had missed two, and not felt a thing when they were being removed, was unsettling to say the least. He put the thought aside and decided to ask Harry, now that he seemed more awake – what the hell he thought he was doing down here in the first place. "I thought I told Granger to tell you to stay away?"  
  
Harry smirked into his mug, "Yeah, you did, she did. You know me though, rule breaker to the core." He looked up then and Draco found himself caught by the gaze, "I had to come."  
  
His annoyance returned, though somewhat lessened by the look in Harry's eyes and the fact that he had fainted only a few minutes before. He had, of course, expected Harry to come down anyway, but that didn't mean he couldn't still be annoyed at him for doing so. With the day he had had, he felt he had a right to be annoyed.  
  
"I take it she informed you of my Father's escape?"  
  
Harry nodded but Draco noticed there was no hint of surprise in his expression. Had he known? He squared his shoulders and leant back against the footboard of his bed, "Apparently the Dark Lord released him and a few of the others last night. The letter didn't say much more than that. Useless incompetents."  
  
Harry placed his own mug on the bedside table, "I noticed the new protection. I take it you sent an owl to Gringotts to have your account moved?"  
  
Draco eyed him warily. Had Harry really gotten to know him that well? "Among other things."  
  
One of which had been a letter to his mother, who probably knew anyway, considering she was with Him more now than she ever had been before Lucius had been sent to Azkaban. He rubbed at his left wrist absently, once again feeling that niggling pain. It was beginning to spread up his forearm these days, into his elbow.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
He snapped, "How do you think I bloody feel?" He glared at Harry, "Stupid bloody question, Harry. Now piss off." He stood and grabbed the two mugs, stalked across the room and dumped them a little more harshly than necessary on the desk. One of them cracked. He growled and banished them, as well as the pot, with an angry flick of his wand.  
  
"It wasn't exactly unexpected," Harry said quietly from the bed.  
  
Draco turned abruptly, "What would know about it?" he shouted.  
  
Harry sighed, which just infuriated him even more, "It was inevitable, really. Your father was one of Voldemort's more loyal followers, him and your Aunt Lestrange. Since December, he's been getting desperate for competent followers."  
  
Draco scowled. Like that hadn't been obvious from the start, "It may have been inevitable, but I wasn't exactly ready for it yet." His voice was a little more acerbic than he had intended, but he wasn't happy, so didn't care at the moment. "My father was supposed to be in that place for the rest of his life. If you must know, I was expecting the Dark Lord to be dead before he got the chance to try freeing him!"  
  
Harry frowned as he gave him an accusing glare, "If you mean what I think you mean..."  
  
Draco lost all pretences of control, "I mean, you were supposed to have killed him by now!"  
  
Harry sat up a little straighter.  
  
"Since the day I was old enough to understand it, I've been told over and over again that you're supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world! You stopped him when you were a year old, Harry! Why couldn't you stop him when you were fourteen?" He paused, taking a deep breath, "We wouldn't be going through any of this shit – I wouldn't have been – none of this would have happened, if you'd just managed it then."  
  
There was silence.  
  
Harry turned his head and looked at the floor. Draco regretted saying what he had, but it would have come out eventually, the truth always did, it was ingrained in his very being, and had been from the moment he was born; 'Tell the truth always, Draco,' his father had said during one of his many lectures. 'Lying leads only to more lies, and then where are you? Besides, the truth hurts infinitely more than a lie ever could.'  
  
But he hadn't intended on telling Harry this at all. Ever since Voldemort had first come back, since his father had started disappearing off to Dark Moot's, he had hoped, almost against all odds, that Harry would kill the monster before he could do any more harm. After the summer when Voldemort had tried to force him, his hopes had doubled, trebled, he hadn't wanted to have to meet the Dark Lord again. Rationally, he knew a fourteen year old boy wouldn't have been able to do anything, especially when he had just seen a friend murdered before his eyes. He knew how extraordinary it was that Harry had managed to escape at all that night. But there was a part of him, even now, that had wished Harry had done more, had stayed longer, fought harder.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered and meant it.  
  
Harry continued to look at the floor as he replied in a quiet tone, "Hind sight's a wonderful thing."  
  
Draco shook his head, at himself. He was being stupid. Everything he thought, wished for, Harry had probably thought exactly the same things. Harry had more right to think like that than he, for what had he done during those early years? Followed his fathers every whim, acted like a spoilt brat. At first he'd even looked forward to meeting the Dark Lord. He had no right whatsoever to be feeling like he was, Harry had looked death in the face four times in his short life, and each time it had been at Voldemort's hands. Each time he had picked himself up and carried on. Harry had so much on his shoulders; it was a wonder he managed as well as he did. He didn't need to have his boyfriend saying what he just had, thinking like some panicky Dumbledorian.  
  
"I shouldn't have said that," he said, just as quietly.  
  
"Do you think it?" Harry was looking at him now and he couldn't reply; he couldn't lie to Harry, not now, not ever again. At the long silence, Harry nodded, "At least I know that now. At least I know what you think." Draco watched as he got up, still a little unsteady from his earlier faint – though maybe it had more to do with how he was feeling? – picking up his invisibility cloak as he did. "I'd better go."  
  
As Harry made to leave, Draco rushed across the room and grabbed his sleeve, "No, please," he swallowed, looking at Harry, "stay."  
  
Harry looked at the floor again. "Harry, please."  
  
On impulse, he did something he never instigated himself, he wrapped his arms around Harry's still form and pulled him close. There was no way he could take back what he had admitted, but he could try to explain. After a moment, Harry dropped the cloak and wrapped his own arms around Draco. Relieved, Draco held him tightly, burying his nose in the crook of the taller boy's neck.  
  
* * * *  
  
The escape had been relatively simple. There were only human's guarding the gaol, granted, humans and rather potent spells, but humans none the less, and Lord Voldemort had dispatched them all with something akin to pleasure. Each and every guard in or around Azkaban was now dead, or dying. Those already dead were the lucky ones. Lord Voldemort had been in a good mood and had decided to try out a handful of new hexes. There had been bits of guards everywhere. Most of them still alive.  
  
Voldemort had taken only those still of vaguely sound mind, those who were useful to him; the rest he had either tortured, killed or left. His master had changed in the year since he had last been at his side. He wasn't entirely sure how, but it was true none the less.  
  
Lucius had no idea where they were now, all he knew was that they had traveled a long distance, without rest, and now they had stopped. He had been segregated from the rest of the escapees; he was left in the charge of Bellatrix Lestrange, his wife's sister. The two of them were left sitting together in a near empty room.  
  
He desperately wanted a shower, but knew better than to ask for anything of his fellow Death Eaters. Instead, he simply passed the time thinking of what he was going to do now that he was back with his Lord, back where he belonged. Over the year he had thought of many things he could suggest to Lord Voldemort, mostly ways of getting rid of Potter.  
  
He stood when he heard familiar footsteps coming down the hallway leading to the room. Bella stayed as she was, sitting in an armchair, a bored expression on her face. He couldn't help but notice that his sister in law had truly gone insane during her stay in Azkaban Prison.  
  
He smoothed down his tattered robes and waited for the footsteps to reach the door. When they did, it was Narcissa who opened the door for their Lord. He stalked in, more forbidding after another year's time to regain his health. Following him, with a slight sidestep wheedling movement, was Peter Pettigrew. Lucius held back a sneer. He always had and always would hate the detestable little man, not least of all because he had once been a friend of the Potters. That he was traitorous scum just bore up his belief that everything to do with the Potter's was loathsome.  
  
He bowed deeply when Lord Voldemort stopped before him. His meticulously groomed, over-long beard and hair dangling obscenely. He would have to do something about that as soon as was possible.  
  
"Up, Lucius. Now."  
  
His master's voice had not changed. It was still slightly high for a man, silky and venomous. He straightened and looked his master in the eyes.  
  
"I am most displeased, Lucius."  
  
Lucius blinked.  
  
"Not only did you not get for me the prophecy, but you also managed to get yourself, and others, imprisoned." Lord Voldemort's voice dripped with rage, though he was speaking barely above a whisper. "I have had need of you this past year, Lucius. It is not acceptable that you allowed them to take you from me. You, who have played the Ministry for sixteen years. You, who were the most respectable wizard in the Ministry. You, who were my right hand in all my dealings."  
  
Voldemort paused and folded his spindly arms across his toast-rack chest.  
  
"I have Narcissa and Bella for what I need now. You seem somewhat.... redundant. I am sure, though, that I shall find something for you to do. Do not cross me, or let me down again, Lucius. I may not be quite so forgiving."  
  
Lord Voldemort held out his hands, Narcissa and her sister took one each and escorted him from the room. As the door closed, Lucius stared at it. What was going on?  
  
"Dropped a little in his esteem then, Malfoy?"  
  
Lucius turned. Wormtail was sitting in the chair Bellatrix had vacated, that stupid, vacant, wavering smirk on his lips. The little man obviously was still a coward, but being under Lord Voldemort's wing for the past two years had given him a little more courage than he would otherwise have expressed in this situation. He looked smugly self satisfied.  
  
"I have done nothing, Peter."  
  
"Perhaps that is the reason?"  
  
With a bit of effort, he managed to keep his temper under control. "What are you doing here? Why has our Lord left you with me?" Out of the confines of the magical barrier in which he had lived for the past year, he held out his left hand and conjured a hair tie as he spoke. He sneered at Wormtail's expression as he tied his annoyingly long hair out of the way.  
  
"His Lord wished to speak with the women alone, but wanted you watched. So he chose me." Wormtail shifted in his seat, puffing out what there was of his chest. It was disgusting, verging on perverse; he was almost preening. Lucius believed the man looked more like a rat every time he saw him, and today was no exception.  
  
"And what did you do, for him to bestow such an honor upon you?"  
  
The rodent inflated his chest again, smirking, "Nothing of any particular interest to you. Unless, of course, you are still interested in your son?"  
  
Lucius, who had, by this time, moved to stand by the window, turned abruptly. Wormtail's metal hand gleamed in the moonlight as he flicked a mote of imaginary dust from his sleeve.  
  
"I care nothing for my son. The moment he decided to join Potter, he was lost to me. I have no son."  
  
Wormtail looked amused more than anything else, and left it at that.  
  
For over an hour not a word was spoken, but the whole time Lucius' brain worked, trying to figure out what Voldemort had planned for him, why he had left him with this scum of the human race. Every minute, his temper frayed a little more, and every moment he remembered Wormtail was there, the more the desire to beat him from the room took hold.  
  
At length, Wormtail spoke, "Narcissa is lovely, is she not?"  
  
Lucius turned and eyed the balding man suspiciously; "I do beg your pardon?" His tone was acid, and his voice dripped with all the Malfoy dignity he could muster.  
  
Wormtail sat a little straighter in his chair, his face breaking into a sickly smile, "She hasn't aged a day since you left, you know."  
  
Lucius took a breath, "You have watched her?"  
  
Wormtail quailed, just slightly and only for a second, before once again picking up on where he had left off, "Indeed, I believe she grows ever more exquisite with each passing day."  
  
Why, why, Wormtail was provoking him, he could not understand, but it was beginning to work, the insidious man's words were beginning to grate at his control.  
  
"She now has your job, by the way. She is our Lord's right hand woman." The barest of pauses, "Perhaps she is more..."  
  
That was the trigger. His control snapped in an instant. The very idea of his wife with another man, even if it was his Lord Voldemort, was too much. With but a seconds pause, he shot towards Wormtail, who squealed, and lifted him by his neck with one hand, choking the breath from him. Wormtail scrabbled uselessly at his wrist with both flesh and metallic hands. Neither worked. Lucius slammed him against the nearest wall and stepped in close, "Where are your amusing comments now, Rat?"  
  
Wormtail squeaked rather like his namesake, cringing back in fear, struggling to breathe. Lucius growled and slammed him to the floor with all the force he could muster. He kicked the little man as he squirmed to move out of the way. And again as he yelped in fear and pain. Crouching low, he slammed his fists into the thin body below him, again and again, putting all his strength into each punch, working out all the anger he had stored up over the year, all the humiliation.  
  
Wormtail's squeals grew weaker, and he stopped struggling, simply attempting to cover his face and head with his arms, curling into a fetal position. Lucius didn't care. He continued pummeling the younger man, treating him as a muggle would a punch-bag, not seeing the blood flung from his fists. He paused once, briefly, to catch his breath, not caring that his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, that Wormtail had stopped moving altogether and was covered in his own blood.  
  
He didn't realize, until the clapping began, that he had an audience.  
  
As soon as his mind registered the applause, he stopped and straightened. Voldemort was sitting in the armchair, clapping lightly, his red, cat-like eyes trained on his own pale gray. Lucius dropped his fists to his sides and stepped back, ignoring the pathetic blood covered form at his feet, and waited.  
  
After a moment, the applause ceased and Voldemort steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the long, white thumbs. "Magnificent," he whispered, eyes hooded slightly in what could have been admiration.  
  
Lucius did not respond. After a moment, Lord Voldemort began to speak, his voice low, controlled, sinister, "It is so rare to find true rage, and even rarer to find it within a mind and body capable of exploiting it in any way the person wishes, in a mind so knowledgeable of the human bodies frailties. Yes. Truly magnificent."  
  
Lucius simply stood, not entirely understanding what Lord Voldemort was saying.  
  
"I had suspected as much of you, Malfoy. Now I know I was correct. Thank you."  
  
Taking a breath, Lucius frowned, "For what, Master?"  
  
Voldemort smiled his serpentine smile, red eyes flashing, "For being exactly what I needed. A pity poor Wormtail did not catch on to what I intended." The red eyes searched his own for a moment, "Do not blame him for what he said, it was I who instructed him, and created this little charade. Though, I do believe he truly thought he was being 'honored', as you put it, for his loyalty and petty scheming."  
  
Lucius took all this in and then nodded. His fists unclenched and his temper was once more under his control. He glanced at his knuckles, then back to his master, "What was he saying about my son, Master?"  
  
Voldemort smiled again, "Ah, well, on that point alone, I do believe he was almost correct. He did suggest a plan of action to me, but it was ludicrous. I rejected it immediately. Narcissa and I have concocted an alternative and am, indeed, already implementing it."  
  
His blood ran a little cold at the thought, but he had renounced his son weeks ago, Draco was no longer any concern of his and would have to face whatever Lord Voldemort decided to throw at him as the traitor that he was. He looked down at what he believed to be a body. He prodded it with one booted toe, "What shall I do with this?"  
  
Lord Voldemort stood, slowly, and moved closer, "He is not dead. Take him to the medical wing." Voldemort paused for a fraction of a second, an assessing look in his inhuman eyes, "Commendable reaction to the question of your wife's fidelity, by the way."  
  
* * * *  
  
Harry awoke warm and unimaginably comfortable. It took him a moment to realize why. Draco was pressed up against his back, one arm round his chest, the other under his neck and folded over his collar. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes again, settling back into Draco's warm embrace.  
  
He didn't know what the time was, and he didn't care. All he knew was that they had talked late into the morning, eventually falling asleep together. He felt that, after last night, their relationship was taking a new turn, a turn for the better. He curled the fingers of one hand gently around Draco's left wrist, slowly stroking the pale skin, feeling the pulse just below, running his fingertips over the pale, downy hairs on the back of his arm. He studied the almost translucent skin, imagining, just for a moment, the Dark Mark stark against his pale coloration. Just a few short years ago, Draco would have given his life to Voldemort and, amongst other things, they wouldn't be lying here this morning. He couldn't help but think that if life had turned out just a little differently, he may have ended up facing Draco in battle.  
  
Pushing the thought away, he rested his hand against Draco's wrist again, feeling a form of reassurance in the pulse against his fingers. It quickened just slightly and he smiled.  
  
"Good morning, Draco," he all but whispered.  
  
Draco stirred slightly, gently removing his arm from under Harry's head. As he moved over a little, Harry rolled onto his back and looked up at the blonde. "How are you this morning?", he asked gently, watching him flex his right arm, working out the kinks and numbness. Draco yawned in response, but his eyes were smiling.  
  
Harry lifted a hand and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He'd forgotten to take his glasses off before they fell asleep; he now had two tiny indentations in his nose. As Draco laboriously climbed to his feet, Harry sat. At least they had both been in their bedclothes when they fell asleep, once or twice before, he had slept in his day clothes and each time, had regretted it when he awoke.  
  
He watched Draco stretching for a moment, hearing the soft clicking of his joints, the sudden, gagged yelp of pain as he stretched his left arm surprised him. He frowned. "Draco?"  
  
Draco turned, rubbing his left forearm, he shrugged, "Morning stiffness, you know R.S.I"  
  
Frowning, harry shrugged in return and stood, stretching a little less daintily. He thought of something and turned to look at Draco as the blonde began collecting clothing and a set of clean robes for the day from his wardrobe, "It's going to be all over the papers today. And tomorrow. Probably for the rest of the week."  
  
Draco looked at him over his shoulder; "I had thought of that and am quite prepared to handle whatever those imbeciles out there have in store for me."  
  
Harry nodded and picked up the invisibility cloak from where he had dropped it the night before. Draping it over his shoulders, he grinned at Draco's raised eyebrow, "I'm Head Boy, I'm not to be seen wandering around in my bedclothes. I've got an example to set, you know."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, "You'll have to wait a moment then and follow me out when I go to the Great Hall." After the barest of pauses he continued, "Where, no doubt, Weasley and Granger will attempt to remove me from existence for your disappearance overnight."  
  
Harry chuckled, "I doubt it; Ron helped me escape last night. They know exactly where I am."  
  
"Well then, even more reason for my not turning up at breakfast."  
  
Harry openly laughed at that and waited patiently for Draco to wash and dress. The blonde had taken to leaving his hair loose since the summer, which softened his look somewhat, turning him into more of a fallen angel. When they left his room and entered the common room, Harry safely ensconced under the invisibility cloak, most of the seventh year Slytherin's were waiting for him. The only one's missing were Crabbe and Goyle – both of whom were understandably disinclined to associate with the other Slytherin's much anymore.  
  
Draco stopped at the doorway, one hand still on the handle. Moving close, Harry placed a hand on Draco's back, whispering as lightly as possible, "Ignore them."  
  
Draco's back was tense under his palm, but it didn't show in his countenance. He glared at the Slytherin's. "If you are waiting for me to cow in fear, rejoin you, or anything of the sort, I am afraid you are rather sadly mistaken."  
  
Harry watched in silence as Blaise stepped forward, Pansy at her elbow.  
  
The Slytherin students were always very careful when speaking, choosing their words carefully, even amongst themselves. Blaise did this now, dropping the Sunday Prophet at Draco's feet. Harry looked at the front page and had to catch his breath on a gasp. He stepped backwards involuntarily and Draco flinched as his fingers left the blondes back. Regaining control of himself, he stepped back and put his hand back, pressing lightly, reassuringly.  
  
The title of the Sunday Prophet read:  
  
'FIFTY DEAD IN PRISON OUTBREAK!'  
  
The subtitle:  
  
'Hundreds more tortured as convicted Death Eaters escape.'  
  
Underneath it was a huge photograph covering the entire page, of the prison itself, reduced to rubble. At first it looked like a muggle photograph as nothing was moving, but if you looked closer, you could see the stirring of a breeze through the dust on the floor. The Photographer and Editor had not held back, this photograph showed, very clearly and in full color, body parts scattered around the grounds.  
  
"Your Father's loose, Draco."  
  
"As I have been informed, Blaise." Draco folded his arms across his chest, an impatient tone in his voice, "Whatever it is you wish to say, get it over with, I'm rather hungry this morning."  
  
Blaise bristled slightly and a hush fell over the room. Pansy glared at him, her pretty face looking pinched because of the unfamiliar expression. Harry watched the faces around the room. He knew for a fact that every one in this room had Death Eater parents, and he could guess that at least half of them had joined Voldemort themselves. Not a one of them had changed in the last six years; they all looked like aristocratic bullies, lounging in their decadent, emerald coloured and mahogany armchairs.  
  
He was surprised though at their decision to confront Draco this morning. He would have thought they would wait a while for the news to sink in, the shock of such devastation at Azkaban to fade a little. He thought, a little bitterly, that the letter from the Ministry had understated the circumstances of Lucius Malfoy's escape rather spectacularly.  
  
"You're on the losing side, Draco." Blaise indicated the paper lying at the blonde's feet. Draco finally deigned to look down at it and Harry felt the muscles in his back tense even more under his hand. Draco looked for a moment, then turned back to the girl, "Well, he is rather messy in his approach. That doesn't mean he's going to win, dear. Come back when you have a little more proof than an escape from a prison warded only by humans and a few paltry spells."  
  
Blaise and Pansy appeared to want to continue the discussion, but Draco turned and stalked out of the common room, holding the door open slightly longer than was necessary to let Harry through after him. Once out in the hall, Harry looked around to check no one was in sight and pulled the cloak from his head, "Draco?"  
  
"I'm alright. The letter was just a little more vague than it should have been on the exact details of my fathers escape...." Draco was breathing harshly, his eyes closed as he leaned back on the painting entrance. Harry put out a hand, lightly touching the other boys shoulder. For a moment nothing happened, and then Draco was in his arms, holding him tightly.  
  
They stood for a moment in silence, arms wrapped tightly around one another, Draco's fingers clenched in his invisible cloak, giving the blonde the comfort he needed without comment. Eventually, Draco stood back and they released each other. Smiling slightly, Harry brushed Draco's bottom lip with his thumb before pulling the cloak back over his head, "I'll see you in the hall," he whispered, quickly brushing a kiss on Draco's cheek before hurrying up the hall.  
  
* * * *  
  
As he stepped out of the Gryffindor common room, dressed and showered, he nearly walked right into Seamus. "Woah! Oh, hi Harry!" They both took a step back from each other, preventing the collision that would surely have happened if they didn't, and Seamus grinned at him.  
  
"Hey, Seamus. What you doing back up here so early?" He closed the portrait behind him, garnering an annoyed 'harrumph' from the Pink Lady as he did so. Seamus grinned again, "I could ask the same of you, mate. Out with some lovely lady last night? I know I was."  
  
Harry laughed in spite of himself, "That Ravenclaw girl?" Seamus nodded with a happy grin. If he hadn't known, right from the start, that Seamus was rather stoically straight, he may have entertained the idea of pursuing him last year. But as it was, the modestly handsome Irish rogue had been left to it and had been dating a girl from Ravenclaw since late November of their sixth year. From the looks of his fellow Gryffindor this morning, the relationship was getting serious.  
  
They walked down to the Great Hall in amicable silence, Seamus apparently lost in thoughts of the previous night, Harry wondering how the school was going to take the news of the escape from Azkaban, the enormous loss of life. How was Draco going to fare? They had received merely a glimpse of the reaction he was likely to receive this morning, and that had been only the seventh year Slytherin's. How would the three other houses react?  
  
Ron and Hermione were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when they finally reached the entrance hall. Seamus gave him a mocking look, "So you were out all night then?" and grinned as they parted at the bottom, waving slightly as he headed into the Great Hall for breakfast.  
  
Harry gave his two friends an inquiring look. Hermione was clutching a copy of the Sunday Prophet to her chest, the very issue that had been thrown at Draco's feet, Ron a small stack of toast wrapped in a napkin. "Come on, we need to talk to you."  
  
With a slight frown of worry, Harry followed the two of them out of the entrance hall and down the corridor to an empty classroom. As the three of them sat down, he asked, "What's wrong?" Hermione pushed the newspaper toward him and he unfolded it, opening it to the second page. When they glanced at each other, surprised, he said, "Draco had this thrown at him by Blaise this morning, I've seen the front page."  
  
The story inside wasn't very informative. They still had no idea how the escape had taken place, nor what hexes had been cast to create such devastation, but it did describe, in sickening detail, what had happened to the human guards and left over prisoners by the hexes. Most of the guards had been found in pieces all over the wrecked building, the inmates had been less lucky. Some of them had still been alive when they were found, but died soon after.  
  
"Voldemort's made his first move then," Harry said tonelessly, closing the paper and pushing it back toward Hermione. Ron, he couldn't help noticing, had flinched ever so slightly at the name, but didn't make anything of it, simply handing him the toast as he spoke, "I dreamed this. Two weeks ago, I dreamed Lucius was going to escape."  
  
Harry blinked, "Pardon?" Hermione did not look surprised, had he already told her then?  
  
Ron sighed, "Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone about the true extent of my gift. I'm not just your run of the mill, typical Seer; I actually have prophetic visions as well. Two weeks ago, that first night you went out to visit Malfoy, I was practicing my Tarot and the visions took me."  
  
Visions plural? He was more than surprised by this, and Dumbledore had told Ron not to tell anyone? Why? Ron continued, his voice a little tight, "In this particular vision, I saw Lucius Malfoy wrapped tightly in growing vines, but as I watched, the vines withered and died and he stepped free. The imagery itself was enough to scare the crap out of me, but the feelings held within the vision were terrifying. Not only had he been freed from captivity, but something inside him has been freed as well."  
  
Harry looked directly into his best friend's deep, blue eyes, wondering and a little scared by what he was being told. Ron didn't blink as he continued, "I don't know what's happened, but I wrote down everything I could remember and told Dumbledore the next morning. It wasn't the only vision I had that night. I saw both of you, Malfoy, Snape. None of the visions were particularly nice. Firenze and Dumbledore have been working on interpreting them for the past two weeks – but I don't think they're doing very well. Vision interpretation isn't very easy, you tend not to put the connections together until the event has passed."  
  
"Like this one," Hermione whispered. Ron glanced at her, "Well, this one was easy to interpret, we just didn't know when it was going to happen, and Dumbledore couldn't persuade the Ministry to up the spells and protection on Azkaban – not without any solid proof of why it was needed."  
  
Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair. This was a little too much information to take in at once. Ron was a prophet? Dumbledore had tried to warn the Ministry of this Break out from Azkaban? He sighed and then realised something; Draco wasn't here. "Where's Draco?" he asked, looking at this two friends.  
  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a second, then turned back to him, "He wasn't in the Great Hall," Hermione said quietly, "We assumed he as with you, that you would know where he was?"  
  
Harry stood so suddenly the chair he had been sitting in fell backwards and crashed to the floor, he was already stalking to the door before Ron and Hermione had pushed back their own chairs. If anything had happened to Draco in the time it had taken him to get up to Gryffindor tower, change and come back down again, he wanted to know right now.  
  
Ron and Hermione following closely behind him, he stalked as quickly as he could, without running, to the Great Hall and stepped in, looking around. The tables were all full of excitedly chattering students, the Sunday Prophet obviously being handed around so everyone could see the pictures and read what had happened at the prison. Some looked up at him as he stepped in, giving him a worried, wondering look, nudging the students next to them. In less than a moment, the entire student body was looking at him, and he couldn't see Draco anywhere.  
  
He glared at the Slytherins. All of them were there, including Crabbe and Goyle. And hadn't they professed the need to look after Draco? The need to protect him, as they had done since the first year? Blaise smirked at him from her usual seat. Maybe he was overreacting, but to loose Draco on the very morning the world found out about his fathers escape from Azkaban, the very morning the seventh year Slytherins had confronted him, was a little too coincidental to be overlooked.  
  
For a moment his eyes met Dumbledore's, then he glanced at the other teachers at the table, noticing that Snape wasn't among them. He swung round and stalked back out of the hall.  
  
* * * *  
  
Draco touched his fingers to the cheek Harry had kissed, smiling slightly at the remembered touch. Being kissed by an invisible person was disorienting, but somewhat nice; the silky feel of the invisibility cloak giving the kiss an enchanted quality that appealed to him.  
  
The painting opened behind him and before he register what was going on, or even that anyone was there, Theodore Nott had pressed him up against the far wall, the other boys face so close to his own that he could barely breathe. Only a year ago, Nott had been a weedy little rat of a boy, much like Peter Pettigrew had been – and still was – these days however, the re- emergence of the Dark Lord seemed to have agreed with him. He was still a little short, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in muscle and brute strength.  
  
"No witnesses out here, Malfoy," he whispered into Draco's ear.  
  
Draco clutched at the forearm pressed against his collarbone; it was seriously beginning to choke him. "No witnesses to what, Nott? A paltry attempt at scaring me back in line?"  
  
The pressure on his upper chest intensified and Nott's free hand moved up, the fingers tangling in Draco's silver-gold hair, pulling his head back against the rough stone work of the wall. That hurt! Draco grit his teeth, forcing his body not to move in reaction to the rough treatment.  
  
"To witness me beating the shit out of the only Slytherin without any sense, Malfoy." Not tightened his fist in Draco's hair and banged his head against the wall as he leaned in closer, "Tell me, when did the Great Draco Malfoy decide we weren't good enough for him anymore?"  
  
Draco didn't reply as he shifted, trying to move his legs so he could do some permanent damage to Nott's chances of ever procreating, but the smaller boy reacted fast, insinuating his own knee between Draco's legs. He felt it lift slightly, the thigh pressing firmly against his groin. Nott grinned, showing all his uneven teeth at once, "Or are you simply shagging the Potter boy so you don't have to face reality? The Dark Lord will win in the end and put a stop to all this mudblood and half breed malarkey."  
  
"What I do with Potter is none of your business, Nott," Draco managed to grind out between his teeth and through the pain in his throat, "And we need the muggle borns and half breeds to keep us alive, idiot."  
  
Nott growled at him, pushing harder with both forearm and thigh, he slammed Draco's head against the wall again – the resultant mesh of pain and asphyxiation making him nearly black out. There were flashes of light behind his suddenly closed eyelids.  
  
"You really believe that? That Dumbledorian bullshit? You Malfoy's are weaker than I ever thought! No wonder the Dark Lord wants you all weeded out."  
  
Draco grabbed at the hand in his as it tightened again, pulling out a few strands that caused pinpricks of pain over his scalp. Through the pain he heard the portrait door open and gasped as Nott turned, his forearm momentarily backing off and lessening the pressure on Draco's throat.  
  
"Zabini. What do you want?"  
  
Blaise? Oh, the day just got better and better.  
  
Nott's arm pressed again and Draco wheezed, wishing he had had time to grab his wand so he could hex the smaller boy to the end of next month. His tired mind managed to catch what Blaise was saying, "Nott, what the hell do you think you're doing? Down here, in the open, where anyone can walk in on you?"  
  
Yeah, Draco silently agreed. Anyone. Please?  
  
"Piss off, Zabini. No one comes down here, but us Slytherins, and they don't give a shit. In fact, they'd probably applaud me." They would, too, Draco thought, his brain going muzzy due to the lack of oxygen, not noticing as Nott's hand released his hair.  
  
He noticed it, though, when it connected with his stomach. Unable to curl up in a protective ball, Draco spluttered and coughed in pain, they cried out as Nott's knee connected with his unprotected nether regions. Oh, Merlin, that hurt.  
  
"Nott!" Blaise's voice rang through the hallway as the arm pressing him against the wall removed itself and punched him in the stomach. Draco slid to the floor, pain ringing through his senses, clutching ineffectually at his groin, coughing and gagging as he tried to get the much-needed oxygen into his lungs. Nott completely ignored Blaise's outburst as she continued to scold him and Draco curled into himself as a foot connected with his left kidney.  
  
"What, exactly, is going on here?"  
  
Snape's acerbic voice broke through the shield of pain. Thank Merlin he was here.  
  
"I was trying to stop them, sir. I came out here on my way to breakfast and found them at each others throats." Draco pulled in the oxygen he needed to think straight and forced back an indignant snort at Blaise's account of the events.  
  
"Nott?" Snape's voice was calculated, quiet and full of threat. Draco pulled in another breath, his mind slowly clearing, the flashes of light beginning to recede. The only problem he had now was the blinding headache.  
  
Nott stepped away and Draco uncurled a little, "It's true, sir. He was impugning my honor." Big word from such a small brain, Draco couldn't help thinking as he uncurled a little further, one hand wracking the back of his head, checking for any damage.  
  
"Of course he was, Nott," Snape sounded as sarcastic as ever, "A week of detentions with Filch. Report to his office at fifteen hundred hours each evening. Fifty points removed for beating a fellow House Member senseless and getting caught in the act. Blaise, detention with me this evening, at the same time, for not using your brain and stunning the both of them. Ten points removed. Now go, both of you."  
  
As the footsteps retreated up the hall, Draco uncurled entirely and tried to prop himself up on his elbows. Snape reached down and silently helped him to his feet. "What, precisely, was going on master Malfoy? Nott may be a loose cannon, but attacking someone, least of all you, in a public corridor is not normally in his repertoire."  
  
Draco straightened himself, wincing at the pain in his stomach and groin – he felt like throwing up – and looked up at his House Master. "Just a friendly warning, sir. Apparently I'm on the loosing side."  
  
Snape snorted and declined to reply to that, instead saying, "Follow me. I have a potion or two that will help with the pain."  
  
Draco was grateful that Snape did not offer him an arm for support. It was enough that Nott had just bettered him, that he had been too off his guard to react quickly enough to get his wand. If Snape had offered an arm, it would have completed the beating his pride had just taken. Clutching his stomach, he slowly followed the Potions Master to his private workroom, thankful that the man had discreetly decided to keep his pace slower than his usual stalk.  
  
Draco stepped into the familiar room and sat down on the nearest bench, absently rubbing the back of his head. Was it him, or had he taken a little more beating this year than all the previous? First the muggle thugs, then Voldemort and his Death Eaters, now Nott. He was beginning to rue the choice of openly choosing Harry Potter rather than Voldemort.  
  
He shook his head, surprised. Now where had that come from? That was one of the most ridiculous thoughts he had entertained since his father had been incarcerated. Must be the mugginess from lack of oxygen and pain.  
  
He silently watched Snape going through the numerous jars, bottles and pots lined along the shelves taking up the entire left-hand wall, running the length of the room. Finally, after a few moments, he seemed to find what he was looking for and paced across to the opposite wall, which was lined with a workbench. There were already two potions on the boil, but he cleared a space in the least used part and set up some new equipment. Draco continued to watch, again marveling at the precise, careful, slightly flamboyant manner in which Snape conducted himself during actual potions making.  
  
Since the summer after fifth year, Draco had spent a lot of his free time in this room, and the living room next door, silently watching his House Master as he prepared potions and remedies for classes and the hospital wing. Watching the older man work was soothing, as Snape truly was a master of his art.  
  
The scent that slowly filled the room was slightly spicy and a little too sweet, leaving a sickening, too much chocolate, sensation in his stomach as he breathed it in. Snape took a step back and poured a small measure of the concoction. He held it up at eye level, clearly inspecting it, then, apparently satisfied, he turned toward Draco. Snape reached him in only a few strides, "Here, drink this."  
  
Draco took the small, clear glass beaker, glancing at the potion within – it was a nearly transparent red color – at the range, the sweet spicy smell was much stronger. He swallowed it all in one go and handed the beaker back. Snape nodded, the tiny upturn of his mouth indicating one of his rare smiles.  
  
After a moment Draco began to feel the potion working within him. The pain began to recede and his headache lifted. He stretched; his joints clicking a little and felt much better, though the R.S.I. he noticed had not disappeared. He rubbed the offending wrist and forearm, watching Snape as he bottled the rest of the potion and began cleaning away the instruments.  
  
"I hear the Dark Lord has freed your father," Snape said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence, "I take it that is what instigated the argument between yourself and master Nott." A statement rather than a question. Professor Snape knew his students well, after all, he was a Slytherin himself.  
  
Draco stretched again and nodded as Snape looked at him, "I can handle them. I was simply caught off guard this morning." Though he wasn't about to tell him why. Snape nodded, putting the last of the equipment away.  
  
"Would you like to read today's paper? It is mostly a lot of driveling speculation, but there is a goodly amount of true reporting peppered throughout."  
  
Again Draco nodded and Snape handed him a copy of the Sunday Prophet. He took a moment to look at the front page, wondering at the enormity of the situation, trying to figure out why he was so decidedly apathetic about it and then turned to the second page.  
  
Snape had been right. The article was over the top, bordering on hysterical, needlessly speculating on this, that and the other. But interspersed throughout the writing was the occasional bit of real reporting. In all it appeared fifty people had been found dead on the scene, including all the guards and some of the inmates. But the numbers were expected to rise as the remaining inmates appeared to have been hit with debilitating new hexes. Some of which seemed to have been purposefully designed to deliver a slow and painful death. Avada Kedavra appeared not to have been used, not even once. His earlier comment about Voldemort's having a messy approach came back to haunt him as he looked at the many photographs of remains scattered about the shattered building.  
  
He shivered involuntarily. Voldemort had planned this, had chosen to use this break out as a means of showing the world his new play things, show the world that he really did mean business. He shivered again at the thought that Voldemort had obviously had at least one person specifically in mind when he had created these new curses.  
  
Harry.  
  
He jumped when there was a nock on the door. He followed Snape with his eyes as the man stalked to the door, to see who it was. "Ah, Master Potter. I had wondered how long it would take you," he said quietly, glancing back at Draco.  
  
Draco put the paper back, flat on the table and pushed it away from himself, standing up as Snape stepped backwards away from the door, allowing Harry the room to enter.  
  
"Professor Snape, have you seen - " Harry was cut off as his eyes lit on Draco, who smiled at him. Harry looked worried, his hair more mussed than usual. He had obviously been running his hands through it in concern. His face lit up when he caught sight of Draco, the worry disappearing.  
  
Draco sat back down again as Harry came further into the room, Snape closing the door behind him, wondering at the boys obvious capacity to worry himself sick over everyone but himself. After all, it was Harry Voldemort had it in for, Harry whom had been on his mind when he created the new curses, Harry who had been thwarting him at every turn, first when he was only a baby, and then again at eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen.  
  
So why was Harry so unconcerned for his own well being? His own life?  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Sorry this one has taken so long guys, my computer literally blew up and I lost half the chapter. Had to re-write a lot of it and then patch it all together when I got the hard drive from my dead computer back again.  
  
But anyway – here it is, and I hope you all enjoy what I've given you so far ^^ This chapter is actually a couple of pages longer than I had intended, but I'm not complaining!  
  
Feel free to ask questions, and depending on what they are, I may or may not answer you ^^  
  
Hannah 


	6. Chapter 05

Hermione huffed and closed the book she had been reading, '_Divinatory Interpretations of Waking Visions_.' The book was as fascinating as the title suggested to her, and for the first time in her life she found herself enjoying anything to do with Divination. However, the book wasn't as helpful as the title suggested.

Since Ron had told her about the visions he had written down, she had decided to give Firenze and Dumbledore a helping hand with the interpretation; both were busy teaching and running the school, respectively. As well as the added extra, on Dumbledore's part, of the furore over the Azkaban break out.

It hadn't turned out quite as easy as she had thought it would be. Apparently interpreting visions required not just the book learning, but also a keyed in intuition for the subject that she appeared to lack. She persevered though, as always, reading every book that looked helpful and even some that didn't, making sure she at least had the grounds to understand what Ron was talking about. She had decided never to underestimate her boyfriend again. When it came to this subject, he was infinitely more knowledgeable than she was ever going to be. 

There was really only one thing that she had been able to decipher for them so far and she was sure they had already known before she began her research. She had sat down this afternoon with her books and a written reproduction of Ron's visions. What she had ended up with was a detailed analysis of every colour seen in every vision and its magical significance. Once she was through with the magical, she wracked her brain for the muggle. She hadn't wanted to miss a thing.

Hermione absently sucked on the end of her quill, reviewing her notes. Colour wise, only four of the six visions provided anything significant to work with. The first was the most interesting, the one of Harry and Draco meditating together. 

Flicking her quill at the description, she read it once more. She frowned; it felt unfinished, as if something was missing. As if Dumbledore and Firenze had removed some significant piece of information from the vision, something they did not wish her to know. She sighed, rereading her notes, thinking that if they had decided to withhold something, then it must have been for good reason.

So. Yellow and gold robes on Harry. Two colours traditionally and magically associated with masculine power and strength, winning, playful humor, charm, confidence and persuasion. Alone, yellow was connected with humility, intuition, goodness, truth, intelligence, learning, memory and logic. Gold was connected with great achievement, wealth and longevity. Those were the magical connections, but as a muggle-born, she knew of a few others. Gold was rich, precious, coveted, but it was also soft. Yellow was bright, lively, cheering and strong.

As for Draco's robes in the vision. Blue and pink. Magically, blue was associated with good fortune, wisdom, truth, fidelity, loyalty, faith, spiritual inspiration, creativity, calmness, reassurance, protection, understanding and patience. Pink was identified with romantic and mature love, friendship, harmony, affection, emotional healing, good will, nurturing and honor and morality. From a muggle perspective, blue was calming and clear, natural. Pink soppy, girly and motherly. 

From this one vision alone, even with what she felt to be important parts missing, she could tell that it was exclusively about the developing relationship between the two boys. She would eat one of her own books before she believed for a second that neither Dumbledore nor Firenze had already worked that out. Despite this fact, she diligently wrote down every bit of information she discovered, making a neat list of the associations.

She continued onto the next vision that offered itself for colour associations. The vision of Professor Severus Snape trapped in a silent scream. In this vision, it was the red walls that spoke to her. Red was the colour of passion, power, strength, survival, vitality, determination, action, expansion and active leadership. It didn't take much of a leap to realise that the vision was of Voldemort. Torturing Professor Snape. Though in conjunction with the emotive side of the vision, she had yet to figure it out…

Hermione had been particularly interested in the vision of herself. Morbid curiosity really. Though magical colour associations were a void subject in its interpretation. Ron had all but refused to let her delve into it in any great depth. For his sake alone, she had forced herself to skim over it, leaving the interpretation to those more qualified.

The next, the cornfield and the Triple Goddess, was another easily divined vision. The withering yellow-gold sweetcorn seemed to signify Harry's depleting power. The Triple Goddess screaming in pain, wearing black robes of protection, power, chaos and binding. Their hair the silver of clairvoyance, intuition, psychometry, astral energies, their skin the white of spirituality, the psychic. It was Ron himself, despairing of Harry's loss. 

Hermione shivered as she re-read her notes on that particular vision. If she was right, then Harry was in trouble. She hoped she was wrong and moved on to the next, but felt no better. This vision, too, seemed to portray a danger to her closest friend.

The blue-silver and the green figures, less to do with colour in this vision, and more to do with Harry and Draco's eyes. But then, the colour of their eyes may be important. They certainly seemed to portray something about each youth. Harry's green eyes were associated, magically, with healing, youth, hope, new beginnings and immortality. The green was also associated with the Green Man. She already knew the blue associations, but the silver added some things; freedom, balance, endurance, peace, personal illumination and a connection with the Triple Goddess, as well as clairvoyance, intuition, psychometry and astral energies.

She sighed once more, carefully placing the quill on the parchment, closing the book over them both. It was useless, and trying to figure out the meaning behind these visions was a lot more depressing than she had thought it would be. She was no psychic, her interpretations would be arbitrary at best; and without any of the training Ron had received, she had no idea whether or not she was even close to the mark.

"Ugh."

Ginny, whom had been sitting quietly at the table with her, apparently absorbed in writing a letter to someone, looked up. "What's wrong?"

Hermione placed the now closed book on top of the pile next to her and gave Ginny a wan smile, "Nothing really, just some research giving me a headache."

Ginny's eyebrows shot into her fringe in surprise, "_Research_? Giving you a _headache_?" And Hermione found herself on the receiving end of a smile she was used to seeing only on her boyfriends face.

Hermione returned the smile ruefully, "Yes, I know, ironic isn't it? But I'm afraid it can't be helped in this circumstance."

Ginny gave her a warm smile in response, dipping her quill in her ink before asking, "What are you researching?" with the air of one used to her bouts of researching and not really interested in what it was about this time.

Hermione leaned back in her winged armchair, pushing the pile of books a little further to the right so she could see the young redhead clearly. She smiled again, tiredly, "I'm just doing some research for Headmaster Dumbledore. He's a little busy with all the Azkaban fallout and needed some help."

Ginny's forehead wrinkled slightly at the word 'fallout' but she nodded, seeming not to notice Hermione's evasion of the actual question. It was only Ginny, but Dumbledore had asked her to talk about the visions to no one who did not already know of them; she had to keep Ginny out of the loop – however much it pained her to do so.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, attempting to fight back the headache that was threatening to emerge. She cracked one eye open when she heard giggling from the far corner of the library study area. Parvati and Lavender were giggling together over something in a magazine, showing the pages to Letice and Marianne – the two other girls from her dorm.

Sometimes – and she felt like a traitor whenever she did – she felt like just _once_ joining in with the other girls. She felt like giving in to the side of her that just wanted to relax and enjoy being female. She had, for the Triwizard Ball, and she had felt fake almost the entire evening. Not that it had been misspent, after that Ball, Ron had finally realised he liked her – she supposed it had more to do with the fact she had gone with Viktor Krum than the fact that she had 'dolled up' a little.

Right at this moment though, she felt an urge to forget about real life for a little while, and enjoy herself with her fellow seventh years. Instead though, sighing inwardly, she gathered up her books and parchment, and went in search of Ron. 

……………….

That same afternoon, Harry looked up from his prone position on the floor, not quite believing what had just happened.

He looked at his right hand wonderingly, staring at his wand, then up at Remus Lupin. "Did I know I could do that?"

Remus laughed and held out a hand to help him up, "I shouldn't think so, Harry. I must admit you had a bit more thrust in that than I was expecting, though."

Harry stood and flexed his right wrist, twirling his wand as he did so. They had just attempted a powerful shielding charm, which had shocked the both of them by being a little more powerful in Harry's capable hands than they would normally have expected – especially on his first try. The resultant explosion from Remus Lupin's attack had knocked Harry off his feet, and thrown Remus into the wall.

Dusting himself off, Remus continued, "Well, now that you seem to have picked that one up readily enough, I say we move on."

Harry squared his shoulders, looking Remus in the eye, "Are you sure?"

The last surviving Marauder smiled gently, "Certainly, Harry – over this single lesson you have picked up more than a handful of the more powerful defensive spells. So I thought we may try you out on some offensive."

He grinned in spite of himself; it was the _offensive_ weapons he had most longed to try, though he knew the _defensive_ would certainly come in useful.

This was the first of his new extracurricular DADA lessons. It had started almost two hours ago, just after the normal end to the school day. It was nearing five in the evening and he found he could now command three new defensive spells. _Glacierous_, which was much like a body-bind, just a lot more powerful; _Inreter_, which was a much more powerful version of the roping charm; and _Protexi_, which had just turned out to be rather a good one.

He was beginning to wish that he had known some of these spells when he faced the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor over the summer. Some of them would indeed have been very useful last December.

"Harry? Are you ready?"

Harry blinked and looked once more at his father's old friend, realizing he must have drifted off in remembrances of the Christmas period. He shook himself slightly and made himself smile, "Sure, Remus, I'm good. What's the next one?"

Remus Lupin appeared to assess him for a moment and then he smiled in return, "I think we may try a simple Explosion curse." Harry's attention was instantly peaked, this sounded interesting. He watched as Lupin moved across the room, apparently measuring it with his steps.

"Yes, I think there may be enough room…" the older man mumbled quietly. To Harry's surprise, he quite suddenly clapped his hands together and ushered him forwards. "Here, stand here, Harry, don't want you blowing yourself up."

"Uh, yeah, Remus." He couldn't help but grin at the way his Professor was acting – almost like a concerned uncle, which, he supposed, he may very well be. As far as Harry was concerned, at any rate.

Remus stood next to him, took a very discreet step back and said, with a smile, "The spell is _Discutere_, emphasis on 'cu'. Just think 'explode' as hard as you can," he paused, "well, maybe not too hard, Professor Dumbledore rather likes this room."

Harry grinned, pointed his wand at the makeshift target they had been using all afternoon and uttered the curse.

When he woke up, he was surprised to see that he was lying in the hospital wing.

Remus looked down at him, "I did say not to think _too_ strong, Harry," he said with a smirk.

Harry sat up, "How long was I out?" He scrabbled at the bedside table and grabbed his glasses, noticing that he was still fully clothed. He couldn't have been out for too long, then.

Remus stretched, "About an hour. You destroyed the room. But you know Albus, he doesn't mind in the least, he simply wanted to make sure you were ok."

Harry stretched in turn, keeping a wary eye out for Madam Pomfrey. She had an annoying habit of babying him whenever he ended up in the hospital wing, despite the fact that he tended to be able to look after himself these days.

He caught Remus' eye. The older man, his Professor, was giving him a slightly worried, contemplative look. He looked like he wanted to say something. Giving in to the tension, Harry said, "What's wrong?"

Lupin straightened a little, giving him an uneasy look before taking a breath, "Do you resent these new DADA lessons?"

Harry blinked a little, not really sure what to say.

"It seems as if all you spend your time on now are extra lessons for your own and others protection. Mostly other's. I could see why you could grow to resent them, if you do."

They sat in silence for a moment, Harry trying to figure out a response to the question. Eventually, he turned back to the man who was becoming more and more a friend, rather than teacher. 

"I don't. Not really." He paused, looking closely at the older man. "Remus, I honestly don't mind. I understand what the world feels I should be doing and sometimes, I agree. I understand the responsibility that's been, well, forced on me and I've got to do everything I can just to survive. In the meantime, it's fun, learning new spells and curses, blowing myself up a little," he grinned, "destroying one of Professor Dumbledore's favorite rooms…"

Remus gave him a long, hard look, his features gradually softening, losing the uncharacteristic tenseness. Finally, he smiled, "That's good to hear." His voice trailed off slightly and Harry thought he continued, "…but such a responsibility…"

They both jumped as Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, cheery smile, as ever, in place. Harry tried not to scoot back and out of her way as she reached his bedside, though he received a withering look anyway. She put a hand to his forehead and held his left wrist, checking his pulse with her forefingers.

After a moment, and an incoherent mumble in the direction of her chest, Harry found himself looking her straight in the eyes. He could almost feel Remus silently laughing behind him.

"You're fine. But if I have you back in here again within the week, it will be bed rest and Professor Snape's foulest invigorating potions for you. Professor Lupin, make sure he doesn't try and get himself killed again on his way to his dormitory."

She and Remus exchanged cursory nods as Harry scrambled off the bed. Remus quickly followed Harry out of the ward, the teenager giving the retreating figure of Madam Pomfrey a sour look as he closed the door. Sometimes, that woman scared the hell out of him, and threatening him with Snape's foulest potions really was below the belt.

He sighed as he quickly stepped up to Remus' side and they traipsed unhurriedly down the hallway for a moment in silence.

"Would you come back to my quarters, Harry?" He glanced at Lupin and smiled, nodding, absently wondering where Draco and the others were, what they were doing. It didn't take long to get there, the DADA quarters were still in the same place as they had been the last time Lupin taught here. Once or twice, as they walked, Harry had thought Remus was about to say something, but the man had seemed to shrug it off in silence.

Despite getting to know Remus fairly well in his third year, Harry had never actually been in his private quarters, only his office. Thankfully, he'd never had to be in any of the other DADA Professor's private quarters either, the mere thought of what one or two of them must have been like, gave him a chill. Especially the thought of Lockheart's.

He grinned to himself. Lockheart was currently back in the business of Authorship. It had taken time, but he had regained most of his memory – with stops and starts and a few false steps. Though a few well placed and meaningful howlers from Fred and George, on the subject of such things as Basilisks and back-firing wands, had kept him mercifully clear of anything to do with Harry since his come back.

He was certainly intrigued as to what Remus' quarters would look like. He had a feeling Lockheart's would have been full of self-portraits, just like his office. Fake Moody, or Barty Crouch's office would probably have followed the same rule, full of Dark Arts detectors. Umbridge's, he was sure, probably would have been full of doilies and other such nonsense items, again following the same rule. Quirrel's, though, he wouldn't have been surprised if it was as normal as wizarding quarters could get, with only the occasional personal item. Professor Defoe's quarters would probably have been rather boring, as the man himself had been.

So, with a certain amount of eagerness, he followed Remus into his private quarters. He was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be full of interesting little nick-knacks and strange implements, African and Japanese masks, books from floor to ceiling on fitted shelving, a small bubbling cauldron to one side and some of the comfiest looking furniture he had ever seen. As Remus moved to one of the cabinets, near a door at the rear of the room that presumably lead to his bedroom, Harry browsed around, reading book titles and trying not to touch anything.

"Drink?" Harry turned and saw Remus holding up a clear glass bottle of what appeared to be butter-beer. He grinned, "Sure, thanks," and sat down in one of the armchairs as Remus poured them both a tall glass. He couldn't keep his gaze in one place though, as the whole room was so interesting. The African masks on the wall interested him beyond anything else; they were huge and looked almost feral.

"Your Godfather and I got those on one of our travels together after your third year. Of course, that was before Dumbledore called us both back to England, when Voldemort returned." Harry looked up at Remus as the older man handed him the glass. Remus' eyes, suddenly tired looking, were on the masks he had been looking at. He hadn't known Remus and Sirius had traveled together in his fourth year. It made sense though, as Remus had obviously been unable to get work and Sirius had been on the run that year.

"How's your new term been so far?" Remus sat down on the sofa opposite him, taking a sip of his butter-beer. Harry shrugged, swirling some of the beverage around his mouth, enjoying it. He hadn't had any since Easter.

"It's not too bad. Quidditch trials went well, we have some good players this year, as well as enough reserves. I'm keeping up with all my studies, as usual and of course it helps to have Hermione around for that." He smiled, settling back a little.

"That's good to hear, but you know I meant 'how are the dreams?'" Remus gave him a scrutinizing look. Of course that's what he had been on about. Harry had simply wanted to keep the conversation light, off such subjects as this. He sighed and leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, twirling the glass in his right hand, left hanging limp. 

"They're as bad as ever if I don't take the potion. Which has happened only twice since getting back." He hated reliving anything to do with that December night, so he made sure to keep a vial of Dreamless sleep in his bedside table at all times. Those times he hadn't had it with him had been nights spent in Draco's room. Of those two instances, he had dreamed, but had not woken, as was the case if he forgot in his own room, alone. Both times, he had kept the dreams to himself.

"Did the dreams bother you over the summer?" Remus asked gently. Harry shook his head, "No, they only come when I'm here, within the magical field of Hogwarts," where it had happened. They had realised this would be the case days afterward. He had spent the first few nights in London, in St Mungo's and there, the dreams had not come. As soon as he had returned however… It had been Dumbledore who had made the connection, and Severus had come up with the correct potion to help. 

He brought his left hand up to his face, "I haven't told anyone about them. Everyone assumes I've not forgotten since getting back." He looked up at Remus and smiled, "I suppose everyone thinks I'm infallible, the 'Great Harry Potter, Boy Who Simply Wouldn't Quit'."

Remus cracked a smile at the title and put his now half-empty glass on the coffee table, "How are you coping?" He made a vague hand gesture, "With everything, not just the dreams."

Harry put his own glass on the table and sat up again, "Pretty well actually. The course work keeps me busy, my friends keep me sane and these new lessons will keep me safe. I'm not worrying, neither should you." He watched, as Remus appeared to stifle a slight laugh before replying.

"I think I'm entitled to worry, Harry. But you're right. I simply wanted to make sure you were ok with your lot at the moment." He picked up his glass again, "But speaking of friends, I'd like to ask about Draco. Almost everything I've heard about the two of you has been hearsay and second or third accounts."

Harry almost grinned; he had had a feeling the conversation would turn toward Draco and himself at some point.

"How did the two of you suddenly get on such good terms over the summer?"

Harry picked up his glass and took a sip or two before replying, "It wasn't so sudden, really. Since the end of Fifth year, Draco's been trying to distance himself from Voldemort, the Death Eaters and his father. I just didn't really notice, what with everything that happened between Sirius' death and the end of Sixth year."

He made himself more comfortable as Remus asked, "But?"

"_But_, when I bumped into him in Bath over the summer and saw him outside the confines of Hogwarts and it's cliques, I finally noticed. We just kind of fell in together because we were both bored and the friendship grew from there. Helped along, of course, by the appearance of the Death Eaters. I realised just how much of a friend he was when Voldemort turned up at his home." He shrugged; trying to brush off some of the feelings that had hit him at that moment. Remus was an open-minded person, but some things he liked to keep to himself.

Remus smiled, knowingly, "I notice that you and Draco are a little more than friends now, though."

Harry raised his eyebrows, his glass halfway to his mouth. Remus chuckled, "No, it's not that obvious, but one learns to read the signs. I suppose he is worth it? Worth running the risk of Voldemort finding out and perhaps using him against you?"

Harry carefully put his glass back on the coffee table, giving himself time to gather his wits before replying, "Of course he is. We thought about that before coming back, it's why we've decided to keep it between ourselves and Ron and Hermione." At this, it was Remus' turn to look surprised. "They know?"

Harry nodded, "Ron doesn't really approve, but that's no great surprise. Hermione seems pleased for us. You should have seen the look on Ron's face when we told him." He grinned at the memory. "Hermione had already figured it out and warned him, but it was still amusing."

Remus chuckled again, his eyes smiling, "I can imagine."

Harry couldn't help grinning. It was almost refreshing to have someone else in the know, to be able to talk about such things with someone other than Ron and Hermione. It was nice that Remus appeared to approve. Beyond the normal question of whether the relationship was worth it - the kind of question that could be asked of anyone he may have had a relationship with – Remus didn't seem to have any qualms over his being with a young man, rather than a young woman. 

They ended up talking for at least an hour more, completely forgetting the time and everything outside the room.

………………

It's been over two weeks since everyone got back. Lots of new little faces as well as all the old ones. If it was still like the old days, the new faces would be ripe for the picking. Money, food, boredom, just for the hell of it. But it's not the old days anymore, it's _now_, and things have _changed_. For good or bad, who knows?

The Dark Lords return was supposed to bring glory to the Slytherins, that's what we were always taught, but it didn't happen like that. His return has divided the House. Worse than that, now the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are no longer on the sidelines; they've joined the Gryffindors and there's nothing we Slytherins can do against them _all_.

Either join the Dumbledorian's; one side says, and live, or stick with the Dark Lord and die. There's no middle ground, we can't just stay out of it, we _have_ to choose. One or the other. Light or Dark. But we have no choice, Goyle and me.

We don't want to join the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, that's plain enough, we've already made _that_ choice. But we don't want to join the goody-two-shoes either. That's not who we are. That's not _what_ we are. We want to live our lives as we are used to living them, away from the war that's brewing like one of Snape's potions.

We've been keeping our heads down since term started, we don't want trouble. We caused ourselves enough of it that night at Blaise's. Any more and we just might have to leave, just pull right out of Hogwarts and go into hiding. The only reason we haven't, so far, is _Draco_. We can't leave him here _alone_.

He probably thinks he's safe with Potter as his new friend, but we've heard things; when people think they're alone. In the common room, the dormitories, behind the broom sheds and among the stacks in the library. The Dark Lord's up to something. We don't know what, because they stop talking whenever they notice us. What we've heard worries us.

Draco's stupid to think he can get away with what he's doing. Making friends with Potter? We don't care who he _fucks_, we never have, but this? If he had done it in the old days, everyone would have thought he was working on His orders. But now? He's openly chosen the Light. Bad idea.

_Really_ bad idea.

For us, it was risky turning Him down. It's downright _suicidal_ for Draco Malfoy. For pretty much that reason. He's a _Malfoy_. His mum and dad are with Him, members of the Dark. That means he's got nowhere to turn if Potter fails. Except perhaps to us.

That is why we stay. We don't trust Potter and the other Dumbledorian's to do right by him.

So. Here we are. For the past two weeks, keeping our heads down and out of view of most of the other Slytherins. The other houses don't really give us any problems, not since He made himself known last December. Unless we start something, we're fine. And we haven't started anything.

I've been watching Draco with the _Golden Trio_. Other than Potter, he doesn't like any of them. I've known him for so long; I can read him like a muggle kid's book, and from the way he acts with Granger and Weasley… It makes me wonder what's so great about Potter that he puts up with them? But put up with them he does, for reasons of his own.

I worry about him; I've seen him when he thinks he's alone. He's in pain. Knowing Draco, though, he probably hasn't told anyone, kept it to himself so no one worries or realizes that he has a _weakness_. He's probably been going to Snape for pain relief potions, to keep it under control. But I can tell when I look at his face, it's bothering him. I wonder if Wonder Boy knows? Bet he doesn't, Draco's probably hidden it too well from him.

Well, I'm going to keep an eye on Draco and Potter. If anything happens that I don't like the look of, I'll go to Draco, talk to him, try to make him see sense. I doubt it'll work, but there's no sense in not trying. Goyle and me will stay at Hogwarts, for now. 

………………

"Mars is bright tonight."

Ron was in Firenze's enchanted classroom, lying on the ground, staring at the night sky – even though it was only early afternoon. Despite his adoration of all things Divinatory these days, Firenze and his patronizing way of treating his human pupils got on Ron's nerves.

He had been told by Harry, on many an occasion, that all Centaurs were evasive and a little patronizing though, so he was getting used to it. It was particularly annoying, however, when Firenze avoided a question by making some inane observation. Yes, indeed, Mars was rather bright this evening and Ron had long since figured out what it meant, but he really did want the answer to his question. It was pointless, however, to pursue a question that had been avoided thus.

He sighed, "I suppose I ought to get on with the lesson then?" He received a rather pointed look from his white haired, palomino bodied tutor. He ignored the look and flipped onto his stomach, opening a book once he had got himself comfortable. Firenze maneuvered himself down until he was 'sitting,' his humanoid half resting against a tree, arms folded across an impressive chest. Ron studied the double-page-spread for a few minutes, then rolled over again to look at the sky. He studied the heavens with the same intricacy as the pages before speaking.

"Mars and Jupiter," he squinted at Jupiter. In this room, the sky was slightly magnified, so he didn't really need a telescope, but it would still have helped, "Appear to be signifying the coming of a Great War." He paused and glanced at Firenze. A slight nod was all that he received, but it was enough to encourage him. He turned back to the sky again, scrutinizing it.

"It's hard to tell, with some of the movements a little confusing, mostly because I've not done them yet, but I think Andromeda and Neptune are portending some form of battle. Not the Final Battle, but an important one nonetheless." Again, he glanced at his primarily monosyllabic tutor to gauge whether he was correct. Firenze was staring up at the sky, his gaze apparently directed to the very spot Ron had just divined. Ron watched his tutor and eventually the centaur looked at him again. 

"You are correct, Ron Weasley." Firenze climbed back to his hooves and stood with eyes trained once again on the sky, "You are improving, man child. Your skills, though still hindered by youth and your very nature, are comparable to the youth of my kind." And a centaur youth was normally still a foal by the age of seventeen. Apparently they didn't learn to talk until they were into their twenties. The drawbacks of living for centuries at a time, and also not much of a compliment if he was being compared to a centaur foal. Though he supposed any form of compliment from Firenze was rare enough to warrant some form of celebration.

"Thankyou." 

Firenze blinked slowly then shook his head, as if to clear it. "Tell me of your visions."

Ron raised one eyebrow, "_Again_?" The look on the centaur's face was enough to make him shut up and get the parchment he had written them down on out of his bag. They had actually spent at least an hour every day talking of nothing but the visions – he was beginning to get a little tired of them – though he knew they were important.

"We have discussed the first two, you have consistently avoided the third – today, we must discuss it." Firenze paused, giving him a somber look, "Repeat the particulars of the vision to me."

Ron breathed deeply for a moment and then read out the description to his teacher. This vision perturbed him more than the others, simply because he now knew it was no metaphor. The vision of Hermione was not completely real, but the message was clear, she was going to be harmed, sometime in the near future. The problem was, there was no way of telling when it was going to happen, and there was no point in warning her about it – doing so could lead to complications, paradoxes – perhaps leading to her making it happen.

"Have you thought more on this vision, man child?" Firenze was giving him what could pass for a sympathetic look – for a centaur.

Ron nodded, "I have. I haven't come to any significant conclusions though, beyond the fact that this is no metaphor. Hermione will soon be taken from me and harmed. It doesn't tell me how or why, though."

Firenze nodded, "And the next – read it to me."

As he read out the next vision, he re-sensed the feelings associated with it. Despair mostly, sadness, fear – the unseemly feel of disappointment, but not a human disappointment. The disappointment seemed to radiate from the magic itself, the aura of almost sentient power that emanated from all magical things, whether alive or inanimate.

"There was that feeling again, Sir. The powerful aura of Hogwarts, sorrowful and disappointed because of something, important – I still can't tell what it is." He closed his eyes and searched the vision. He shook his head – it was giving him nothing more for the moment. He sighed. "Nothing, Sir." 

"It is difficult – think on this vision more, work out the feelings within yourself – the meaning is inside you, you must simply discover it. We are done for today – I have matters to discuss with Professor Dumbledore."

Dismissed early? Ron had no problem with that, but it was a little strange. He packed his bag quickly, not registering the now normal sight of the ceiling returning to normal. Firenze nodded to him as he left the room, tail switching in an agitated manner.

Hermione was likely to be in the library, so he headed in that direction, musing over the feelings brought up by the vision. Firenze thought it was important enough to cut short a lesson so he could discuss it with Dumbledore, which meant he was going to have to do his best to figure it out.

He thought back to the vision of Hermione. Because of that vision, he had been thinking about protection – he couldn't do anything overt and risk making the vision a fact, but he could put a simple protection on Hermione. He had spent some time researching the matter during his free periods – normally he would need Hermione's permission to put a charm on her, most protection charms worked in that way. Recently however, he had found a very simple charm that was designed specifically for a loved one, it didn't need their permission, nor even their knowledge. Firenze's evident worry had forced him to make up his mind. He was going to perform the spell at the first opportunity.

"Ron!"

He looked up, dispelling his worries. Hermione had just turned the corner ahead of him, apparently just having left the library in search of him. He smiled broadly and they hugged – he held Hermione for a moment longer than usual, briefly squeezing her tightly.

"What's wrong, Ron?" Hermione stepped back, one hand still on his shoulder, a concerned look on her face – her eyes roamed his face, looking for any hints as to what was wrong. He smiled again, "Nothing, I just missed you."

She raised an eyebrow, but he only grinned at her, "Did you have any luck in the stacks?" 

Hermione's expression changed to that of chagrin. "I'm not sure – you've probably figured out everything I've done already."

Ron shook his head, "That doesn't matter, any help is good help – and a fresh perspective on these visions are needed – Firenze, Professor Dumbledore and myself, are all too involved in them. We need someone like you to look at things in a different light, pick up on what we missed." 

……………….

"Harry!"

Harry jumped at the eager voice, barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes as he turned to find Colin running to catch up to him. He was currently on his way to meet Draco at the Room of Requirement so they could join Ron and Hermione to discuss the visions. A Colin was not something he could afford to be distracted by at this particular moment.

"What is it, Colin?" He stopped and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, eyeing the younger boy warily. Colin caught up to him and took a moment to catch his breath before enthusiastically holding something out for Harry to take. Harry looked down at the offered object; it turned out to be a photograph. 

"I spent a couple of hours in Snape's new darkroom last night, developing my holiday photographs – this is the one I took of you and the others!"

Harry took the photograph and looked at it, a small smile playing across his lips. It was a wizarding photograph and it was indeed the impromptu photograph Colin had taken of them at the end of the summer. Draco was looking slightly grumpy whenever he looked at the viewer, but his expression softened whenever he looked at Harry, which was frequently as Harry seemed to be muttering something under his breath. Ron and Hermione were both grinning, sipping their drinks and toasting the viewer, completely ignoring the two other occupants of the small photographic world.

"I've done two copies of it, if you want to keep this one, Harry?" Colin's voice interrupted his silent reverie.

"I'd love to keep this, thank you Colin, it's great." Harry grinned. Colin veritably bounced with glee at this; grinning from ear to ear he backed off a step, "I've got to get back to my friends. I'll see you later, yeah?"

Harry nodded and, still grinning, Colin bounced back down the hall, joining a group of kids who all appeared to simper and giggle as he did so, looking back down the hall.

Blinking slightly, Harry raised a hand in acknowledgement and then turned and continued on his way, still looking at the photograph.

………………

"It's a good photo, are you going to frame it?" Hermione handed it back to Harry with a smile, ignoring the affronted look on Draco's face. "I think a silver frame would look nice, don't you?"

"Yeah, actually, it would." Hermione watched in shocked silence as Harry created one with an elegant flick of his hand, plucking it out of the air in a graceful motion that completely assailed her belief that wandless magic could not be performed except by the highly trained and mature witches and wizards.

Hermione was even more astonished when she noticed the intricacy of the detailing on the frame; it was a delicate knotwork of lions, serpents and vines. She glanced at Ron, who raised an eyebrow. Harry placed the photograph in the frame, and the frame on one of the numerous desks before returning to sit next to Draco at one of them.

"How long have you been able to do that, Harry?" Hermione gave him an intent look.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, "I found out I can do wandless magic a little while ago, but I just did that without thinking. I keep meaning to talk to Remus about it, but, well…"

"You still haven't spoken to him about it?" Draco gave Harry a stern look, which Hermione took to mean that the two of them had already had words on the subject.

"Yeah, I was going to mention it today, but I blew us up and spent an hour in the hospital wing – and then we just got talking and I suppose I forgot." He grinned at them all a little uneasily.

Draco sighed dramatically, but Hermione and Ron both gasped. "You spent an _hour_ in the hospital wing?" Ron looked about ready to explode, but Hermione put a hand on his thigh to quiet him and admonished, "Harry, you _really_ should tell us about these things! If it happens again, you have to make sure a message is at least sent to me. With these visions, Lucius' escape, Voldemort's recent activities and Merlin knows what else, we need to know if you've landed yourself in the hospital wing so we can be prepared."

Harry looked a little chagrinned, but Draco, to Hermione's surprise, agreed. "Granger's correct, if you suddenly disappear and we don't hear of it, we'll know that it's something to worry about – so make sure to get a message sent if it happens again."

Harry nodded a little reluctantly and to change the subject Hermione picked up her notes from her afternoon of research. Taking the hint, Ron pulled out his own notes from his lessons with Firenze, "Did you find anything interesting?"

Hermione nodded, "I'm not sure how helpful it is, as I said earlier, you and Professor Firenze have probably figured out anything I can mention. However, what I've found _does_ seem rather interesting."

Draco removed himself from Harry's side at the desk and appeared to make himself comfortable sitting in the middle of the floor instead, "Honestly, any new information at this point, is preferable to having nothing but a series of unfathomable visions."

Hermione nodded. Since Ron had told them of his visions, Draco had been particularly interested in all the ones concerning himself, so interested in fact that Hermione was beginning to think Draco was hiding something from them all, something unsettling.

"Well, what I have isn't much. I researched the magical properties of colour and using that information; I went through each of the separate visions. Here." She flicked through her notes and pulled out the copies she had made, handing them out to the boys. As she did so, Hermione noticed that the copy Ron had made her of his visions was missing.

"What's wrong?" Ron was giving her a worried look.

Frantically, Hermione went through every piece of parchment she had brought with her. She went through her bag, then her satchel and in desperation, opened every book she had with her to see if the parchment was in one of them, mistakenly closed between the pages.

By this time both Harry and Draco were also watching her. She groaned, slamming one of her books on the neat desk. "I've lost the copy of the visions Ron did for me!"

"Where were you last working with it? You probably dropped it when you packed up." Harry looked at her over the top of the parchment she had given him, "You'd better go see if it's still there, before someone else finds it." 

"Go ahead, 'Mione, we'll go through your notes until you get back." Ron smiled encouragingly and she nodded, "I'll be back in a few minuets then." She pecked Ron on the cheek and quietly closed the door behind her.

"Argh!" how could she have _done_ that? She was so sure she had been careful with the parchment; sure, she could make a mess sometimes – well, most of the time – but she _never_ lost her notes. She sighed and turned the corner in time to see that Madame Pince was just closing up. "Oh, Madame Pince!"

"Hermione? What are you doing here so late? Shouldn't you be with your friends?" The Librarian raised a thin eyebrow as Hermione stopped a few feet in front of her.

"I'm doing some research for Professor Dumbledore and I fear I left one of my parchment notes where I was working earlier…" Hermione trailed off, not really knowing what to say. The Librarian's other eyebrow rose to meet the first, "Indeed? I'm afraid nothing was handed in this afternoon and there were no stray parchments in the study areas."

Hermione's face fell as this sank in, she could feel the panic beginning to rise, but Madame Pince continued, "However, Miss Weasley was studying with you, was she not? She also had a great many rolls of parchment with her as she left some time after you. I should try her, Miss Granger."

The panic began to fade, "Thank you, Madame Pince!" Hermione smiled and turned, hurrying back the way she had come, feeling a little lighter.

Peeves was bouncing around the hallway as she made her way back. Hermione did her best, but there was no avoiding him, this was one of the few hallways that had to be traversed to get to the Gryfindor Common room. The poltergeist spotted her and began giggling, speeding towards her as he did so.

"Mudblood! _Mudblood_!" He came to a stop a few feet above her, circling around her head in gleeful satisfaction. "Leave me alone, Peeves, you know you shouldn't." Despite knowing he was just an annoying ghost, hearing that word again after such a long reprieve still hurt. 

"Naughty, _naughty_! Dark things going on, Mudblood, deep down, dark, _nasty_ things! People sneaking and snooping, Mudblood should look out!" with a raucous laugh, Peeves then swooped out of the nearest doorway leaving her to muse on his words. Hermione shivered and glanced at the shadows, nervous despite herself. What he said could simply be his form of playing with her, but his 'warning' had come at a time when things were so insecure as to warrant anything, however strange, being taken into serious consideration.

Shivering again, Hermione looked over her shoulder and then continued on her way.

Ginny was curled up on one of the sofas in front of the fire with Seamus Finnegan, they were talking quietly to one another, apparently ignoring the few other students in the room.

"Ginny?" The redhead looked up and smiled warmly, sitting a little straighter as she did so. Seamus grinned his usual bright grin and nodded in acknowledgement of her presence. Ginny pushed some stray strands of hair behind her ear, "What's up Hermione?"

"I've lost a parchment of notes I took for the research I'm doing with Professor Dumbledore, Madame Pince suggested you may have picked it up with your own parchment this afternoon. Could you check for me?"

Ginny frowned slightly, "I'll go have a look, I wouldn't be surprised, we were making quite a mess earlier. I'll be right back." Hermione watched impatiently as Ginny walked up to her dorm room. Seamus shifted and leaned back into the sofa, "So what are ye workin' on?"

Hermione folded her arms, hugging herself slightly, "It's a research project that Professor Dumbledore needed a fresh perspective on, he wants to see my work so far tomorrow, so I'm a little perturbed at loosing my notes." She smiled at him and he nodded.

A moment later Ginny could be seen coming down the stairs carrying an armful of parchments, she was flicking through them as she crossed the room, "Ah! Here it is, I thought I remembered seeing something as I tidied up earlier. Is this the one?" She pulled the sheet out and handed it over to Hermione. 

Hermione took the proffered parchment and skimmed it over, "Oh _thank_ you, Ginny! This is the one I was looking for." She gave the slim red head a brief hug; "you don't know how worried I was about this."

Ginny grinned, "No problem, it must have got caught up with my own parchments when you were packing up, I just picked it up thinking it was one of my own."

Hermione nodded, "Thank you again, Ginny." Ginny put her pile of parchments on the spare cushion beside her as she once again curled up into Seamus' side; "It's no problem, Hermione, honestly." 

As Hermione closed the door she saw Ginny lean in close to Seamus, slipping a hand over his thigh. They were both grinning and Ginny appeared to whisper something into his ear. Hermione frowned and closed the door. Seamus was apparently going out with a girl from Ravenclaw, but they had been getting closer over the past couple of weeks. Well, if their friendship served to cheer Ginny up a bit, then there couldn't be any bad in it.

Hermione examined the parchment as she walked, just to be doubly sure. It was a little creased, but that was to be expected considering it had been rather unceremoniously stuffed into a book bag with many other pages. She sighed. For a few minutes she had been worried that the visions had fallen into the wrong hands – not that anyone else would have been able to decipher them better than Firenze, Dumbledore and Ron combined – it was still a nasty scare she could have done without. 

When she reached the Room of Requirement, Harry, Draco and Ron were preparing to leave for the night. In fact, Harry was just putting the photograph and it's new frame in his bag. "I found it. Ginny picked it up with her own work earlier. I don't know how I missed it, but at least no one else picked it up."

Ron sighed with relief and handed her one of her packed bags. "Good. I think we're going to have to come up with a way of concealing all the work we do on this though. We should have a look for a charm that hides the writing from all but those intended to see it." 

Hermione put the parchment in her satchel, with all her other notes and picked up her book bag. Harry blinked at her and then asked, "Could we do something like the charm the Marauders used on the map?"

Draco, who had been slipping his bag strap over his shoulder, frowned at them all, "Marauders? Map?"

"That's a fantastic idea, Harry!" Hermione beamed at her friend, "Ask Professor Lupin about it next time you see him." Draco looked at each of them in turn, a baffled expression on his face. Harry patted him on the shoulder, "I'll tell you about it later, it may explain a few things."

Hermione shared an amused glance with Ron.

………………

Draco headed straight for the dungeons and Snape's office after leaving the Room of Requirement. He had promised Harry he would leave his questions until they met on the roof later that evening. After the mention of Professor Lupin's name, he had a fair idea of who these 'Marauders' were, but he was intently interested to hear the full story from Harry, especially concerning the map that was mentioned.

As it was, he was visiting Snape first, to see if the Potions Master would be able to help him with his wrist. Over the past few days, it had been getting steadily more painful, so much so that he was beginning to have difficulties hiding the pain from Harry. Worryingly, the pain was no longer radiating to his elbow, it was now painful all the way up into the joint, as if he had damaged something inside his arm that was steadily getting worse, rather than better.

He rubbed at the offending joint as he walked. It wasn't likely to be the break he had suffered over the summer, as it was the wrong arm entirely. He had thought, that seeing as he was left-handed, it may be something to do with repetitive strain injury, but as the pain had grown up into his elbow, it now seemed unlikely.

Draco nearly growled at himself in frustration. Why couldn't he figure out what was wrong? He knew his body so well, he sometimes knew days ahead of time that something was wrong with him. But there had been no warning signs of this strange affliction.

Well whatever it was, it was something to keep between himself and his head of year. By rights, he should have been going to Madame Pomfrey, the schools Medi-Witch, but he didn't trust her and certainly didn't like her bustling, motherly ways. He could trust Snape to keep his problems in confidence as well as to treat him with only the best potions. Hand made by the Professor himself, of course.

Rubbing his arm again he noticed some furtive movement ahead of him in the shadowy corridor. He frowned, but when he reached the area there was nothing to see, no door to go through or tapestry to hide behind. Shrugging, he promptly forgot anything untoward had even happened.

There were flickering green lights and a rather putrid smell of smoke emanating from under the door to Professor Snape's workroom when he reached it. Draco recognised the scent, _tobacco_. He wrinkled his nose; it had always seemed strange to him that Snape smoked and stranger still that he smoked the foul Muggle stuff, rather than the treated and safe Wizarding. It did explain his bad teeth and yellow fingers though, as the man smoked as if his life depended on it, polishing off at least thirty a day.

He rapped firmly on the door. The flickering green light stopped and Snape opened the door with a harassed look and, sure enough, a hand rolled cigarette clamped between his thin lips. "Master Malfoy, shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

"Not quite yet, Sir. Curfew's not for another hour."

Snape snorted and opened the door further, motioning for Draco to enter, "You may as well come in then." Professor Snape removed the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he did so.

Draco perched in his usual spot on one of the benches and watched as, cigarette expertly held between two fingers, Snape pottered about with two cauldrons. One of them emitted strange, flickering green lights as it was stirred in a stiff figure of eight. When he was done, Snape damped the fires under both cauldrons, turned and lifted the cigarette to his mouth, dragging on it with what looked like pure pleasure.

Wreathed in an exhalation of smoke, Snape asked, "So, what can I do for you, Draco?"

Draco wrinkled his nose again, "I was wondering if you could take a look at my arm for me?" He rubbed at his elbow again; "It's still giving me some discomfort."

Snape stubbed the cigarette out and pointed his wand at the various candles and torches in the room, lighting them or brightening them. "Which arm?" Draco held his arm up and Snape approached. He slowly moved his wand up and down Draco's arm, about an inch above it as he held his wrist with two fingers, apparently keeping track of Draco's pulse.

"There doesn't appear to be any damage, nothing beyond a strain. When does it hurt?"

Draco's arm dropped as Snape pocketed his wand and crossed his arms. He rubbed his wrist, "All the time, Sir."

He watched the ever-present frown deepen between the professor's eyebrows. Snape turned and pulled out another cauldron, set it up and lit a small magical fire beneath it. Draco continued to rub his arm in an absent manner as he watched Snape turn to peruse the various bottles and jars on his shelves. 

"Describe the pain to me, in as much detail as you can." 

Draco thought for a moment, contemplating the injured arm, "Most of the time it aches and throbs. At the moment my wrist and elbow feel hot, with the pain radiating between the two. Sometimes though, it's sharp, suddenly so painful that I'll drop whatever I'm holding – it feels like a knife being shoved in the joints."

Snape regarded him for a moment and then turned back to the shelves, muttering to himself. Draco watched in silence for a while, thinking. Ever since he had seen Snape sneaking about the hallways, he had been wondering what the Professor had been up to. There were the obvious conclusions of course, one of which was that he was spying for Dumbledore, once again playing the part of a double agent, something Lucius had told him Snape had been accused of after Voldemort's defeat over a decade ago. But there were also the less obvious conclusions – perhaps he was working on a particularly potent potion, or developing some other means of defeating the Dark Hoards?

He wondered, briefly, if Snape was spying, had he seen his parents? He didn't particularly care to know much about Lucius, but his mother… After the way she had reacted to him at the mansion, he had to know something, anything about her. Was she under Voldemort's thrall? Or was she acting of her own volition?

Draco watched Snape's back for a few moments more, battling with his curiosity. Eventually, he gave in; he had to ask. "Professor Snape…" he balked slightly, "Do you still see the Death Eaters?"

Snape looked at him over his shoulder, "Why do you ask?"

Draco shrugged and looked at the floor.

Going back to his cauldron, Snape appeared to ignore the matter. They continued in silence for several minutes, until Draco began to think the matter had been dropped entirely. He was surprised when Snape spoke.

"If you are asking for news of your family, I am sorry to disappoint you. Professor Dumbledore decided that it was too dangerous for me to continue as I had been. I am now confined to the Grounds, for as long as need be."

Draco was a little surprised, what would warrant that? "Why? What changed?"

Snape gave him a long look; Draco thought was almost a hint of resignation in the mans expression, "Azkaban was attacked, Master Malfoy. _That_ is what changed."

Of course, the break out and mass murder. Still, maybe he could give him some news of his mother?

"Before that, though…Did you see my mother often?"

Snape began to stir whatever concoction he had created, slowly and deliberately. "I saw her, yes. In your fathers absence, she replaced him as The dark Lord's second. She is privy to most of what He plans, she very probably knows more than the rest of His followers about what is going on."

Draco sighed. Just like his father, she had probably disowned him then. Which made her behavior toward him a little less strange. Now he truly had no family. Apart from Harry and perhaps Crabbe and Goyle, he realised no one must care for him anymore.

Snape was watching him. He sat up a little straighter and shrugged, "She must be happy then, to be His second and have her husband back."

Snape nodded very slightly and turned back to the cauldron. After a moments thought, Draco realised Snape must have felt this way once, perhaps he still did. Professor Snape must be a lonely man and being confined to the school grounds must make it all the worse. A twinge in his wrist dragged his attention away from the studious professor and he spent a moment cradling the painfully throbbing wrist to his chest, eyes closed, teeth clenched.

When it gradually faded to a dull ache once more, he opened his eyes and found Snape was spooning the mixture into a small vial. He shifted slightly in anticipation. Eventually, Snape turned, stoppering the vial with a small cork. He handed it over and Draco gratefully looked at the strangely coloured liquid.

"Take a spoonful of this every night before going to bed, it should work overnight to lesson the pain to something you can live with during the day. I will need you to come back once a week for a refill and to allow me to check the joints – I'm not entirely sure what the ailment is, but I will continue to research it. Hopefully, I will find a cure soon enough."

Draco smiled, "Thankyou Sir, I'm very grateful."

Snape nodded, once again folding his arms, "Now, be off, and mind that you don't overdo it on that wrist."

Draco nodded, pocketed the vial and left the room, spying the tobacco and papers being brought from various pockets on Snape's robes as he did so.

………………

Frustration. Anger.

Lucius' days were filled with almost nothing else now. Since his first meeting with the Dark Lord, when Wormtail had provoked him and paid the price, Lucius had been confined to the same three rooms where the meeting had taken place. A library come office, a bedroom and bathroom were all the space he was afforded.

To top off the confined feeling, meals were brought to him three times a day by a silent and unnamed Death Eater who was always masked. He didn't know whether the Death Eater was male or female, though it didn't matter either way.

Lucius spent his days reading, thinking up ways of dealing with Potter, contemplating his situation and pacing in circles around the small library. He ate what was given to him, but only after testing the food for as many poisons as he could think of – and the list he could think of was _quite_ extensive – and only after the Death Eater had left the room. Checking his food every day had become a ritual that was keeping him sane.

Since his re-incarceration in the new luxury prison, at the behest of his Lord and Master, he had been visited only twice by his wife. Both times she had stayed for only a few minutes and both times only to pass on some information from Voldemort. The first message had been that Wormtail had survived and was healing well, despite his extensive injuries. The second time had been brief, and only to inform him that the plans already in place were going precisely as expected.

Lucius threw down his book in frustration and climbed to his feet. He paced to the window and stood looking at the sky. This was not the life he had imagined for himself after escaping Azkaban. He had expected to be welcomed back into the Death Eater ranks, to join his fellows on their raids, their missions. He had expected to be privy to the plans of his lord, to lead the Death Eaters in the attacks against those who supported Wizarding and Muggle integration.

Mostly, he had expected to return as husband to his wife.

Unfortunately, that was one of his major frustrations. He had not been with his wife in over a year when the Death Eaters had freed him and the others from Azkaban. From that moment, he had longed to hold, touch, _kiss_ his beloved, but from that moment, he had seen her only from a distance, arm in arm with his Lord.

He felt more than a little uncouth, but he ached to be with Narcissa; to kiss her, stroke her hair, press against her smooth, lithe body. He lay awake at night, unable to banish her from his thoughts, which only frustrated him more.

From a combination of being locked up again, boredom, missing his wife and not being properly informed of what was actually happening around him, Lucius' anger was building, his frustration rising to a new pitch and his resentment was deepening. He had even begun entertaining thoughts of escaping and hiding until the War was over and he no longer had to compete for his wife's affections.

He laughed lightly and pressed his forehead against the windowpane. It was a ridiculous idea, not only because the Dark Lord would capture, torture and kill him, but also because he was not entirely certain his wife would join him.

There was a nock on the door and he looked up. Narcissa was entering the room. He stood straighter and moved away from the window, "'Cissa." He began to wonder what news she brought this time.

She smiled at him; it was the first smile he had received from her since his rescue. He pursed his lips, unsure of how to react to the woman he loved, the woman whose very fidelity he could no longer trust. "What news today, 'Cissa?"

She stepped further into the room and smiled more warmly, "Just another update, I'm afraid, Husband. Wormtail is up and about, as ingratiating and slimy as ever. He wants our Lord to torture you, _kill_ you if possible, for what you did to him." 

Lucius moved closer and rested his left hand on the back rest of the mahogany coloured leather sofa, "Has Voldemort acquiesced to his obsequious demands?" He watched his wife with his eyes, following her every movement as she moved closer still, until there was only the coffee table and sofa between them. Her blonde hair glimmered in the light of the candles, her complexion fairly glowed and as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her nineteen thirties style Muggle dress pulled taught, showing every curve of her body.

As she looked at him, he took a deep breath to calm himself. She blinked languorously and smiled as she spoke, "Our Lord was firm with Wormtail. You are needed for his plans to come to fruition, no action is to be taken." She paused as Lucius allowed this to sink in, "You are still important to Him, Husband. _Never_ forget that."

He crossed quickly around the sofa and grabbed her upper arm; "I am _needed_? For _what_, Narcissa? Why does no one speak to me of what is happening here?" Narcissa started, obviously shocked, but she appeared to regain her composure, staring back into his eyes without blinking, "Lucius," she said, tightly, "trust me, I cannot tell you any more than I already have."

Lucius leaned so close that he could almost taste her, "Cannot or will not?" He breathed in deeply of her scent as he waited for her to respond.

"I _cannot_, Lucius. Despite what you believe, Voldemort does not even entrust me with the details of his plans." She tried to remove her arm from his grip, but Lucius simply shifted his grip and lifted his other hand to her free arm, gripping tightly on both. "Since the battle at the Ministry, he has become closed to us, he makes sure we all know enough to do as he wishes, without knowing so much that the Aurors could break it from us if captured."

Lucius closed his eyes briefly. It made sense, of course, as Voldemort's thinking usually did. He sighed and opened his eyes again. Narcissa was watching him intently; her pale eyes were intense. "'_Cissa_…" he breathed. He couldn't help himself; it had been far too long. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

For a moment Narcissa was stiff, upright, unrelenting, but as he continued to press their lips together and gently pried at her with his tongue, he felt her melt against him. Her lips parted and they were kissing as they had done before the Dark Lord returned to the world, before the Potter boy had become such a nuisance, before their lives had been turned upside down.

He released her arms and slipped a hand into her glorious hair, the other onto her hip, pulling her to him as her arms went around his neck, clutching the collar of his shirt as they passed. She really had not changed in the months since he had last seen her, she was still aggressively passionate, her body still firm, her kiss still as refreshing as the very first.

Their kiss deepened and Narcissa pressed harder against him; one hand dropped from his neck, fingers trailing down his chest, gently tickling his stomach, catching on his flies before cupping him. He moaned into her mouth, pressing into her hand. "Lucius, it has been – _so_ long," she breathed into his mouth as he moved his hand from her hip to grip the cloth of her dress, lifting the h

em inch by inch.

He slipped his hand up under her dress, first caressing her buttocks before trailing his fingers gently up her body, skimming her smooth flesh, glorying in the feel of his wife's body after so long without her. He kissed her neck as he moved both hands now under her dress, one slipping beneath her underwear, the other moving up and caressing her breast. She gripped him tightly as he pressed harder into her kneading hand. He slipped a hand onto her back and breathed against her neck as she began to rub him, rough and quick.

It had been too long, _far_ too long since he had been with his wife. He bit into her neck as she quickened the pace. She gasped and he slipped a finger between her legs, moving as he knew she liked. Within moments she was gasping for air almost as much as he was himself. He slipped a finger inside her, remembering her warmth and the feel of her gripping him tightly. She sighed into his ear and he could feel himself reaching climax, he rubbed against her hand as he did, but did not remove his finger from within her.

As he came, she continued to rub him, bringing fresh waves of pleasure, even as he continued to pleasure her. Lucius grabbed her mouth with his and they kissed passionately as his body began to calm down and hers began to tighten. He moved a second finger inside and quickened his pace, enjoying the feel of her tightening around him.

She pressed suddenly against him, squeezing his fingers tightly as she came. He pressed his forehead against hers; eyes closed as he gently removed his fingers. She shuddered slightly and he opened his eyes to watch her smile at him, in gratified pleasure.

"Thank you, Lucius. I've missed you." She kissed him gently before removing herself from him. He breathed deeply as she replaced her skirt and straightened her hair. He watched as she backed away, leaving him alone.

"'Cissa?"

She smiled again, "Sorry, Husband. I'll come back again when I can. Please forgive me?" 

He blinked, not understanding, his head still not quite working. Narcissa turned and left the room without glancing back at him, not even once.

Not knowing what to do, how to react, Lucius stepped back until the backs of his knees hit the sofa and he sat down with a thump. He winced as his trousers tightened uncomfortably. He still didn't know what was going on. If anything, he was more confused _now_ than he had been before Narcissa had walked into the room.

Lucius sighed, placing his face into his open palms. He didn't know who to trust anymore; not his Master, not his fellow Death Eaters nor even his wife of twenty years.

After a few minutes had passed, he wiped his face and stood up. He crossed to the bathroom with the sole intention of washing away the dirtiness of the situation and collecting his thoughts.

………………

Harry turned as a noise broke through his silent watch of the mountains around the school. He smiled when he saw Draco stepping daintily around the various gargoyles and small turrets. "Finally made it then, where have you been?"

Draco looked up, nearly slipping on the tiles as he did so, "Oof! Bloody _hell_…" he regained his balance and Harry tried not to laugh as he wended his way over, muttering under his breath as he did so. Finally, Draco sat down next to him and after a moment to catch his breath explained. "I went down to see Snape. He's given me a potion for my wrist – nothing to worry about, it was just getting on my nerves."

Harry nodded and slipped and arm around Draco's middle, pulling him closer, both for warmth and for the pleasure of it. They hadn't been alone together for a while, what with work piling up and the numerous visions Ron had been given. _Merlin knew_ the last year of school was bad enough without having all the extra responsibilities of being Harry Potter to boot.

Draco shifted and wrapped an arm around Harry's middle. For a moment they simply sat in silence, looking at the mountains and the stars. Then Draco poked him in the ribs, "Hey! What was that for?"

"You didn't tell Professor Lupin again, Harry. When are you going to remember?"

Harry pulled a face at Draco and settled back again, "I'll tell him at my next DADA session. It was all a bit hectic today."

"And that's another thing, Harry, don't go blowing yourself up, ok? I'd rather be there if anything happened to you and whereas I can beat the _crap_ out of a Death Eater for trying to kill you, when you do it yourself all I can do is worry and yell at you later." 

Harry laughed – that was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to him! Draco was giving his an annoyed look, he wiped a hand down his face and tried to stop laughing, "Sorry Draco, I'll do my best. I'll make sure you're the first to know if I do it again, ok?" He grinned in a vain attempt to stop the laughter from bubbling up again.

Draco nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Oh, I've been practicing by the way. Look" He flicked his wrist slightly and pulled a glass rose out of the air. It shimmered in the moonlight, looking almost as if it were made from starlight. He looked at Draco, a smile he couldn't hide playing about his lips. 

"You really are a soppy bugger, Harry." Draco took the rose and held it delicately, smiling as he turned it round, looking at it from every angle.

Harry was pleased, maybe he _was_ a soppy bugger, but being able to do something like that was a big thing to him. It meant that he was growing, in strength as well as control. And Draco seemed to like the little display; he was running the smooth glass petals over his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Did you learn a spell to do that, or …what?"

Harry shrugged, leaning back against the sloping tiles and looking at the sky, "I just wanted to do it and it happened. It's almost like a summoning charm, only there's nowhere to summon it from – I just summon it from my mind."

Draco gave him a slightly startled look. "That's how Merlin used to work! Do you know what you're _saying_?"

Harry shook his head, he really didn't – surely it couldn't be _that_ important?

"Harry, you're performing magic that hasn't been seen since the time of _Merlin_ and Morgana, not even Dumbledore does his wandless magic in that way. Dumbledore studied for years to reach the level he has. I've seen my father practicing wandless magic in the past – the magic they perform is exactly the same as the magic we learn at school, only the power is channeled through the hand or through the eyes instead of a wand."

Harry took a deep breath. That wasn't what he was doing at all.

Draco continued, "It may look like what most of the wandless practitioners is doing is conjuring out of nothing, but they simply think the spell instead of speak it and gesture with the hand or eyes instead of the wand. But _you_, you don't even _think_ a spell do you?"

Harry shook his head, "No, what I want to happen simply happens – there's no spell, unless I'm doing something I already know a spell for." He sighed, this was all a little over his head, "I'm definitely going to talk to Remus about this. I suppose I ought to tell Dumbledore as well."

Draco nodded; he looked a little subdued.

Harry pulled him down and gathered him in his arms. The blonde protested slightly, but then gave in and they lay in silence for a while, arms wrapped tightly about each other. Harry watched the clouds slowly moving across the stars above them, great expanses of nothingness blocking out the light of the tiny suns, faintly glowing around the edges, giving form only when the light of the moon hit them. He sighed. Things were getting more and more complicated day by day.

"I suppose these powers mean I can protect you and Ron and Hermione better now."

Draco shifted and leaned up slightly, looking down at him; "You need to stop thinking like that. We know how to look after ourselves, even the Weasel." Harry smirked at the name. "By all means, use it to protect us, but don't forget it's _you_r power, have some fun with it as well. Magic isn't just there to be used in battles, it's there to help us live our lives and create fun when we need it. The Weasley twins certainly got it right when they chose to open the joke shop. In this day and age, people _need_ a little cheering up."

Harry closed his eyes and smiled, that was almost exactly what he had said to the twins when he had given them the Triwizard winnings. He should try listening to his own advice occasionally. He opened his eyes again and looked up at Draco, admiring his thinking and the way the moonlight played in his clear blue-gray eyes.

"Thank-you, Draco, I needed to hear that." He smiled and lifted a hand to touch Draco's cheek, gently caressing his smooth skin he slipped his hand through the silky blonde hair and cupped the back of his head pulling him down for a kiss.

All his worries disappeared as they kissed, tongues massaging one another in a slow, deliberate, passionate kiss.

A very loud sound made them both jump, "_What_ the..?"

Draco moved and they both sat up to find Dobby standing looking at them, a pained expression on his face. Harry laughed, his heart was racing but the sound now made sense – it had just been a little louder out here and in the middle of the night than it usually was. "Dobby! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Draco was rubbing his chest, apparently having suffered much the same reaction. "Hello, Dobby," he said a little ruefully.

Dobby bowed, his nose touching the floor and gave them both a confused look, "What is master Harry doing with master Draco?" He looked upset and was twisting his hands around and around a small package he was carrying.

Harry laughed, "Sorry Dobby, Draco is a good friend of mine – we made up over the summer."

Dobby brightened a little, "Master Harry not hate master Draco anymore?" 

Draco raised an eyebrow but Harry grinned, "No Dobby, we're good friends now. What's wrong?"

"Oh! Dobby has come with a present Master!" And he held out the little package. Harry took the parcel and unwrapped it, hoping it wasn't more miss-matched socks. He was a little surprised to find two silver bracelets, one with red gems, the other with green. He looked up as Draco picked up the green gem bracelet and examined it.

"What are these for?"

Dobby bowed again, "A present for the Master and his chosen, Sir! Very powerful! Wear them always." 

Harry was a little perplexed, "Who are they from, Dobby?" He picked up the red gem one and looked at it. Except for the gems, it was entirely plain, a simple band of silver. He looked at Dobby again, "Did you make these?"

Dobby shook his head, ears flapping wildly as he did so, "Not Dobby, Sir. But present from Dobby, please wear them." And with that he disappeared again with another loud crack.

Shrugging, he put the bracelet on his right wrist and was astonished to see it vanish. He could still feel it, the weight was still pressing on his skin, but it was completely invisible. He looked at Draco, who did the same. His bracelet also vanished.

"Well…However strange it may be, Dobby wouldn't give us anything harmful. We'll just get Hermione to have a look at them tomorrow, see if she can figure out what they're for." 

Draco nodded. "He looked a little different to when he was at the mansion. Still as loud as ever though."

Harry smiled and nodded, "Yeah, and did you see his socks?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, "No?"

Harry laughed, "He wears odd socks, I get him them for Christmas. He seems to like them like that."

Draco smiled and shook his head.

Harry touched the bracelet again, feeling the smooth invisible metal between his fingers, turning it until he felt the gems. It was a little strange, but Dobby had been nothing but helpful – if a little disastresly so in his third year – since he had known him, so he trusted that the bracelets were harmless baubles, or if not exactly harmless, then at least intended to be helpful. He smiled again and then lay back, "I suppose we ought to get back to our dorms. Nothing worse than being tired in Potions."

………………..

………………..

WELL!

I'm so sorry this has taken so long to get done! There has been an awful lot going on in my life since I last wrote – I've finished university, I've moved into a house with my boyfriend, we've gotten engaged and I've started a new job – but I never intended to wait for so long.

I hope this latest installment will repair to damage of not keeping up with my duties, and I hope no one hates me anymore 

I'll do my best from now on to get my updates down about once every three months – hopefully less!

I hope you've enjoyed this enlightening new chapter, and please, if you have any questions, go ahead and ask away, I'll do my best to respond to them all!

Hannah


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